Tales of the Granger Brothers
by AmyD and Suisan
Summary: Events of our story, 2 Years 65 Days 2 Many - as seen from the eyes of Colby Granger's older brothers. COMPLETE! All 3 "books" now published.
1. Chapter 1

Hi –

If you're reading this, then you probably already know the works of the Twisted Evilettes (also known as AmyD & Suisan). I sure hope so 'cause the stories you are about to read are long-over-due sequels to the story we published a year ago, **2 Years 65 Days 2 Many**, which followed events that came about from _Janus List_ and _Trust Metric_ but set in our A/U of the Cascadian Granger'Verse. If you have not read the 2 Years story, please do so _**before**_ reading The Tales of the Granger Brothers.

Events that took place in **2 Years** are now revisited and you will get a chance to see how they affected Colby's older brothers.

Book 1 – Clyde "Lars" Larsen Granger. Eldest of the Granger brothers, he is the city attorney for Billings, Montana when Colby was arrested and then freed from his undercover assignment.

Book 2 – Cliffton Forrest Granger. The only member of the Granger Family still on active Military Duty with the US Navy. How did Colby's arrest and the crap that followed affect his squid-brother and how did Cliff make it home to Idaho from the Persian Gulf?

Book 3 – Cody William Granger. The _other_ FBI Agent in the clan. Cody was the one who talked Colby into applying to the FBI after leaving the US Army … see how Colby's deep undercover assignment affected Cody.

Most of all just enjoy the stories. One will be posted every week, starting with Book One on December 10th, 2008 and each one is between 74 to 120kb in size.

Yours Truly,

AmyD & Suisan

Your Favorite Twisted Evilettes

* * *

PS - the stories will be posted here . . . so technically, there are three "chapters" to go from this point and the first will be (was) loaded on 10 December 2008 at or around 2200hrs Central Standard Time - US.


	2. Book One Clyde Larsen Granger

**Tales of the Granger Brothers  
_Book One: Clyde Larsen_**

By AmyD, Twisted Evilette with assistance from Suisan, the other Twisted Evilette

* * *

"Oh My GOD! LARS!" Margaret Westheimer bellowed for him from the front office.

Lars Granger, Prosecuting Attorney for Billings, Montana, hadn't heard Margaret, his secretary, yell like that since September 11, 2001. Something was terribly wrong. He got up from his desk, leaving the plaintiff's statements on his desk and walked out to the front office.

"Marg?" He asked.

She pointed at the TV set seated on an end table on the far side of the room. On the screen was picture of his baby brother, Colby Granger, the words at the bottom of the screen said 'TRAITOR?' He listened for a few moments, frowning and the longer he listened, the deeper his frown. Finally, he had had enough. He took the remote from Marg and hit the 'off' button.

"Assemble everyone in the main conference room." He told her. "Now."

She nodded.

When everyone arrived, all fifteen people, Billings was not a exactly a hot bed of crime, Lars looked every last person in the eye and said, "I know what's been reported on and I know that probably everyone has either seen or heard about it. I will say this once and once only. My brother is not, nor has he ever, nor will he ever be a traitor to his country. There is more going on than we are privy to. There will be no discussion about this…_story_ in this office." He paused, and then added. "Anyone who feels the need for further clarification or wants to ask me further questions will get the same answer. Understand?"

Silence greeted Lars statement. Then, one by one, the assembled staff nodded.

"Good. Also, there will be no comments made to the press. I don't care who they are. I find out that any one of you have and you will no longer have a job."

Again, silence was his answer.

"You can go back to work now." He said, dismissing the staff.

They filed out, a couple of people snuck looks Lars but most kept their eyes averted. Not a sound was made. It was most quiet the office staff had been since September 11th.

"Marg?" he asked her, before she walked out with everyone else.

She stopped and came back over to him. The last few stragglers looked at her but she shooed them out the door, closing it behind her. "Yes, Lars?"

"When Bob Clayton calls from the Gazette, tell him 'No comment, this is a private, family matter.' When he calls again, say the same thing. And when he calls again...."

"I say the same thing." She finished his sentence for him. "Don't worry, Lars, I got your back. I assume the same goes for whatever other news organizations call?"

"Yes."

She nodded, opened the door and went back to her desk.

He stood there for a moment, his hand rubbing across his forehead. He could feel a whopper of a headache coming on. He shook his head. He didn't have time for a headache. He had other far more important things to do, like contacting his family and seeing how they were doing.

He walked out of the conference room, making a beeline to his office. No one spoke to him. When he reached the office, he shut the door, sat down in his chair and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He didn't trust the office phones for who he was about to call. He dialed a familiar number and settled back further into his chair, ignoring the tightening in his stomach and the rapidly growing headache.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, then his mother answered.

_"CeeJay?"_ she said.

"No, Mama. It's me, Lars. I just saw it on the news. How are you doing?"

_"How do you think, Clyde Larson?"_ She snapped.

He sighed but said, "You and I both know that this is all a big mistake."

_"Yes, it is."_ There was the sound of glass being set down on something. _"Your brother is deep undercover and this is part of it!" _

"He's what?!" Lars couldn't believe his ears. Their grandfather, his mother's father, had had a long and illustrious career with the OSS, the forerunner of the CIA, and then the CIA itself but Lars had assumed that the spying had ended with Grandpa Bob.

_"You heard me. Your brother got sucked into some deep cover assignment and now, its blown up in his face." _

"Mama….?" Lars chewed on his lip. How could he ask and not tick his mother off even further.

_"What, Lars?"_

He licked his lips. "How do you know?"

There was a silence unlike any Lars had ever heard from his mother. For a moment, he thought she had hung up on him.

_"Your father told me."_ When she finally spoke, her voice was ice cold.

"Dad? How the hell does he know?" Mom was well and truly ticked. The only time she ever referred to Dad as 'Your Father' was when she was really mad.

_"CeeJay came up here months ago and told him that if his name happened to come up in regards to his being arrested in connection with spying, not to believe it." _

"He did?" Lars couldn't believe what his mother was telling him.

_"He did but he couldn't be bothered to come out and tell his mother. Oh, no! I had to find out about it on the GOD DAMN 6 O'CLOCK NEWS!" _

Lars blinked. He had never heard his mother cuss, ever. He swallowed. _"Is Dad in one piece still?" _

Silence.

If he pressed his ear to the phone very hard, he could almost hear the sound of liquid being poured into something.

"Mama, did you make Dad sleep in the old school house?" He asked next.

_"Lars, it was either that or I'd probably be asking you to recommend a good lawyer right now. The Scot-Irish temper is still hot, ya know?"__  
_  
Lars sighed. He was well acquainted with his mother's temper. "You realize that CeeJay probably broke a hundred different protocols just to get there to see Dad and that there's no way he could have seen you? You can not hold Dad responsible for this."

_"Your father could've TOLD me he'd seen CeeJay, but he didn't."_ Cat let out a sigh of her own. _"Oh, I know all the __**excuses**__ - far better than you might think, Clyde Larsen - I just never expected to hear them from my husband or my children."_

Lars sighed a second time. "Okay, so you know the excuses, why are you pissed at Dad?"

The silence from her end was becoming disturbing - especially since he could hear the incessant ringing of the house phone in the background now. When she did answer, her voice wasn't as pissy sounding as it had been. _"Lars, when - and if - you ever settle down, you might understand. In our 43 years of marriage, your father has never, ever, kept secrets from me. Not big ones like this."__  
_  
"Believe it or not, Mom, I do understand, really. But..." He didn't finish his thought, he didn't want to tee his mother off more than she already was.

_"Lars, don't worry about us. We've weathered far worse than this. Gigi will be back in the house, all snug and warm in our bed, probably tomorrow night."_ She let out a small chuckle. _"That is, if I don't drag his butt back in here before dawn."__  
_  
"Okay. Just...just keep in mind that this was probably killing Dad that he couldn't tell you. That he probably wanted to tell you and just couldn't." He added a chuckle of his own. "I've got enough press here as it is...I don't need to cover my mother killing my father too."

_"Oh, pish! You know I wouldn't really hurt Gigi ... don't you?"_

"I wouldn't be asking if I did. You and your Irish temper, remember?"

_"Like you don't have the same temper, dear. Watch out for the vultures, Lars. Sgt. Huston's already had to post a patrolman at the end of the drive, along with a deputy from Sheriff Leland, to keep the more ... _adventurous_ journalists at bay."__  
_  
Lars grinned, even though his mother couldn't see him do so. "Me??? A temper? Why I don't know WHAT you're talking about."

Cat Granger let out a laugh that almost sounded like her usual self. _"Lars - I've seen you in action in the courtroom. It was rather impressive, but scary at the same time."__  
_  
"I come by it honestly. I've watched the master at work. I've got Margaret guarding the place here."

_"She's a good woman, Lars. If you weren't such a tomcat, you could do worse for a mate."_

Lars rolled his eyes. Leave to his mother to try and match make now of all times. "Yes, Mother, as you keep reminding me. Are you and Dad going to be okay? I can come down, it's not a problem, really."

_"We'll be fine. After I calm down a little more, and your father braves me possibly flying off the handle again and comes back inside, I'm going to break out the reloader and get the rock salt specials loaded."__  
_  
"Mama! Don't even kid!!" Lars said.

_"Lars, trespassing is trespassing and you know it's posted all over the land out here."_ Her voice was steady and Lars knew she meant it.

"God, that's all I need. Turn on the TV and have a news bulletin that you put rock salt in some reporter's hide. I will never hear the end of this. All right, Mom. I'll let you go. You need anything, anything at all, like bail...just call, okay?"

_"I will, sweetie. Let's see ... he's been out there for ... yup. Right on time. Love ya, Lars. Bye."_

Lars hung up the phone, shaking his head. He looked at his watch and thought about contacting Cody but decided against it. He'd wait until Code got home and then pounce on him. As for Cliff? Well, Cliff was on his own, for the moment.

* * *

**5 weeks later...**

"Lars Granger..."

_"Lars, it's Doris Speeck ... are you where you can talk?"  
_  
Lars frowned. "Yes Aunt Dee...what's going on?" If Doris Speeck was calling him at work, it couldn't be good.

_"You have to understand, I don't have 100% of the information but ... Lars, your folks are heading down to Los Angeles and the FBI is sent a jet to pick them up. Something about CeeJay being in Critical Condition?"  
_  
Lars nearly dropped the phone. "Aunt Dee? Could you repeat that?"

_"Lars ... you heard me. I'm not real sure what the hell happened to CeeJay but the FBI sent a jet to take your folks to him. You might, you might want to be home in Cascade soon."_ She let out a sigh. _"Just in case."_

Lars stomach dropped into his toes. He had thought something ugly would happen but…He sat there for a long moment, not saying anything.

_"Lars?"_ Doris' voice sounded extremely old, not her usual spunky self.

"Yes, Auntie Dee?"

_"You might want to see what information you can get from your local FBI contacts ... the way Gigi ran out of here..."  
_  
He nodded, and then realized that Doris couldn't see him. "Sure..."

_"Call me back if you find out anything, Jamie and I are going to take care of the house until your folks get back."  
_  
"I'm coming down Auntie Dee. I'll be there tomorrow."

_"Okay. I'll make sure your old room is ready. You have my cell number handy?"_ Doris had broken down a little over a year ago and finally joined the Digital Age.

Lars dug his cell phone from his pocket and flipped through the directory. "Yes, ma'am. I've got it. Do you know if my brothers have been told?"

_"I suspect they were next on the notification lists...How would we get a hold of Cliff anyhow? Red Cross? They still do stuff like that?"_

Lars frowned again. "I have no idea."

_"Want me to look into it? I'm sitting here at the station with nothing to do but worry."_

"Would you?" He shouldered the phone and started clearing his desk so as to see the calendar. No matter what, he had to be at the house for when his brothers came. And they would come, for CeeJay they would be there.

_"Certainly. I've got access to the Chief's Rolodex so I know how to get a hold of you. You call me back with an ETA for your arrival, you hear me?"  
_  
"Yes, ma'am."

After speaking with Doris, he headed for his apartment. It was only a ten-minute drive but the whole way there he tried calling his parents, first at the house, then on both cell phones.

Nothing.

Reaching his apartment, he flicked on a couple of lights, dropped onto the couch and continued to try reaching his parents. No success. Every time he tried, he got _'The subscriber you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message._' So, it was quite a surprise when his father finally answered his cell.

_"Hello, Lars."_ His father's voice was not the normal, strong confident voice Lars was used to hearing.

"Dad…Thank God.... I've been calling you and mom repeatedly since the moment Doris called me. What happened to CeeJay? Is he going to be all right? Should I come out to LA?"

_"Lars ... we're at the hospital right now. I can't tell you too much, we're not fully sure what the hell happened, but the ER Doc is pretty confidant CeeJay's going to be all right. Eventually."  
_  
"Eventually?" Lars' stomach dropped back into his toes.

_"Lars...CeeJay's in the Critical Care Unit."  
_  
"What? Oh My God." Lars closed his eyes and tried not to picture his brother lying in some hospital bed somewhere.

_"He was undercover - trying to smoke out the real traitors, something went wrong...."_ His father's voice hitched, like he was trying not to cry out loud, before he continued. _"He was tortured. Badly. His heart ... Lars, Colby's heart stopped. Twice."  
_  
Lars dropped the phone. It hit the carpet with a soft thud and lay there for a few moments until he summoned the where with all to pick it up. He blinked, leaned over and tried not to throw up.

"But...but...he's alive still?"

_"Yes, Lars. He's still with us. Your mother won't leave his side. She's like a Cairn Terrier about it."  
_  
That almost brought a smile to Lars face. "That's why I'm talking to you and not her, huh?"

_"Yeah. I stepped out to grab some coffee and turned the cell back on just as you called."  
_  
Lars licked his suddenly dry lips. A thousand thoughts flew through his head but he couldn't give voice to any of them. All he could think about was his father's world '_Tortured badly...heart stopped._' He must have made some noise without realizing it.

_"Lars... Colby, Squirt, will be okay. You know what a fighter he's always been. Keep that in mind."  
_  
He swallowed. "I know Dad. I know." He blinked and tried to pull himself together. "How are you doing?"

_"Oh, you know..."_ Again, Lars couldn't help but hear how strained his father's voice was. "Excuse me a moment." The phone didn't go completely silent though, he could hear a door open, then click shut. Then he heard something he never thought he'd hear. Crying. He closed his eyes and sent a prayer skyward, asking for strength to get through this crisis. The crying abated before his father came back on the line_. "Sorry about that, Lars. Been a rough day."  
_  
"Dad? Dad, I'm getting on the first flight out there. I can be there tomorrow morning."

_"Lars ... No. We're fine. We're staying with the Eppes while we're here. You really want to help me and your mom out?"_

Lars stared at the phone. "Of course I want to help."

_"Get the house ready for CeeJay's return. This is going to probably be worse than when he was home last...He hasn't even been awake for more than a minute before he's asleep again."  
_  
"Yes, sir...when's that going to happen?"

_"I'll let you know. Oh, Lars?"  
_  
"Yes, Dad?"

_"Another thing you should know ... due to whatever was done to him, CeeJay's senses are wonky. When you get to Cascade, ask Doris where I stash the emergency credit card and buy the softest damn sheets you can find for CeeJay's bed."  
_  
"Yes, sir. I will. When he's able, get Squirt to call, okay?"

_"Oh, you bet. I'll let Mom know you're taking care of the house, she'll be happy to know that."  
_  
"Thanks, I'll call again, real soon." Lars didn't want his father hanging up. He had the totally irrational fear that if his father hung up, he might never hear from him again.

Gigi let out a chuckle_. "Not too soon, Lars. I'm walking back into CCU and will have to turn the phone off. How about I call you tomorrow with an update as soon as I know something new?"  
_  
"Okay.... Dad?"

_"Yeah, Son?"  
_  
"Tell Mom I love her and you too. Tell Squirt I love him."

_"I will. Love you too, Lars. Try to get some sleep."  
_  
"Yes, sir." Lars hung up the phone, dropped it on the coffee table and, for the first time in a long time, wept.

A knock on his apartment door brought him out of his crying jag.

He swiped face with his hands and went to the door. "Look...whoever you are...just come back later."

"Lars ... it's me. Marg."

"Marg, it's not a good time." Lars called through the door. The last thing he wanted his secretary to see was the mess he'd become.

"Clyde Larsen, you open this door right now before I kick it down."

Something in the back of his mind made him unlock the door and open it. Marg sounded just a little too much like his mother right then.

"I had to check on you...." She didn't wait for an invite, just stepped right in and pulled him into a hard embrace. "Your father's secretary called the office and told me ... have you spoken to your parents? Is your brother--?"

"He's alive." Lars choked out. His father's words kept playing in his head; '_tortured … badly … heart stopped … twice_'

"Oh, that's good news!" She moved him deeper into his place without releasing him and kicked the door shut. "So why do you look like a wet dish mop?"

"I just got off the phone with my dad." He looked down at her. "It's real bad, Marg, real bad."

"Can you ... do you want to talk about it?" She let go of the embrace, settling for just holding his forearms as she peered up at him with warm toffee-colored eyes.

He looked away from her. "I don't want to burden you with it."

She reached out and touching his chin, turned his face back toward her. "Lars, a burden shared is a burden lightened."

He looked at her, his mother's words echoing through his mind. '_She'd be a lovely choice if you'd stop tomcatting around._' He waved at the couch. When they were settled, he laid out the whole ugly story, including Colby's heart stopping twice and his father crying.

"I've never heard my father cry, Marg. Never." Lars said, tears springing to his eyes again.

She'd reached out to him about halfway through his tale of family misery and taken up one of his hands. Now she lifted that hand from her lap and used it to pull him into another embrace.

"Lars... this is the second time your family has nearly lost your youngest member. I think that gives your father every right to bawl his eyes out." She let him go and gazed into his eyes. "That he didn't try to hide that from you..." A gentle smile pulled at her lips. "Lars, he's looking at you like the man you are, not the son he knows you to be."

He nodded.

"I know...I know...I just..." He couldn't continue, the tears very close to the surface.

Margaret must have understood, for she pulled him close again, this time laying his head on her shoulder even as she started to run her hands across his back in a soothing motion. "Shush, darling. It's okay. It'll be okay. You have to believe that. Shush."

He closed his eyes and didn't say anything for a long time. "Marg?"

"Yes, Lars?"

"I'm putting you in for a raise."

She huffed a little laugh. "You'd better. Or I'll put it out and about that the toughest damn prosecutor in Yellowstone county - hell, all of Montana - is a woose who actually loves his family."

He sat up and grinned. "And I'll deny it, you have no proof."

"Lars - three letters. D.N.A." And she lifted up the shoulder of her blouse that was still a little damp. "Remember, I know more folks in the crime lab on a first name basis than you do." Her smile was sweet, lighting up her eyes with a merriness he didn't often see at the office.

He rolled his eyes. "I never thought you'd pull a Monica Lewinsky on me. After all these years.... I'm hurt, Marg, really hurt." A grin accompanied his words.

"You want a Lewinsky? We'd have to do something other than bawl on each other's shirts. Don't you recall case history? Sheesh!" Margaret smiled a wicked, wicked grin.

Lars colored. "Mom said never on the first date."

"Date?" Her voice squeaked.

"If we were to go out on a date, that is."

"Oh. Well, yes, your mother is absolutely correct. Never on a first date. Second ... now that is another matter entirely."

That got a little laugh from Lars.

Marg joined in the laughter even as she stood up and straightened out her slacks. "Well, I'd best get going now that I know you're okay. I suspect we'll be busy over the next few days clearing your case load...."

He stood and saw her to the door. "Yeah...I'm going to be heading for the house in Cascade."

"Thought you might."

He reached opened the door and enveloped Margaret in a hug. "Thank you. You didn't have to come and check on me but you did and I thank you."

"Silly Bear ... of course I had to come check on you. You're a good friend, as well as my boss. Why shouldn't I check on you when I know you're probably not at your best?"

"Um...it's dark and kinda cold out?" Lars was at a loss for words for once.

"And I grew up in Barrow, Alaska. This is nothing! I laugh at this that you call 'kinda cold.' Ha!"  
He shook his head. "Drive safely, okay? Please?"

"I will, Lars. After all, who would take care of you, if something happened to me?" She turned quickly on her heel and practically ran down the walk, throwing her jacket on as she went. He watched as she reached her car - a 68 Impala - got in and turned over the engine.

He watched her pull away from the curb and shut the door. He thanked God that he had such a person as Margaret Westheimer looking out after him.

* * *

_**Lars picks up Cody at the airport**_

"They made me pack my gun in here, but I was able to carry the bullets in my damn pocket!" Cody groused. He ripped the bright, Day-Glo orange sticker off his suitcase that stated CAUTION! UNLOADED FIREARM! "Talk about advertising 'steal me'!"

"BMW, Cody." Lars said, watching his brother hoist his suitcase into the SUV.

Cody stared at him. "BMW? What the hell does the Bavarian Motor Works have to do with this shyte?"

"Bitch Moan Whine." Lars replied. "A talk show host I listen to uses that phrase."

"Lars... bite me. You weren't seated next to someone who reeked of reefer and like he hadn't showered in years - all the way from DC mind you! I thought I'd lost him at Denver, until he boarded the plane just before they closed the gate."

"Sorry, bro, you're not my type." Lars grinned at his brother.

"Yeah, yeah..." Cody closed the rear cargo area of his brother's Escalade, feeling whole again now that he was properly attired once more, only to nearly jump out of his skin when no less than three patrol cars screeched to a halt and three officers hopped out, guns drawn, and ordered him to the ground. "Jesus!"

"ON THE GROUND!! NOW!!" One cop bellowed at Cody.

Not trusting the locals _not_ to shoot, Cody did as instructed. Lars held his hands up and did not move.

"I'm an FBI agent." Cody snapped, kneeling on the pavement with his hands on his head, the fingers interlaced and locked. "I've got my ID in my left coat pocket."

One of the cops, a corporal if the two stripes meant the same thing here that they did in Billings and DC slowly approached as the other two kept the Granger men 'covered'.

Finding the ID portfolio and comparing the photo with the face of the man on the asphalt ... the Corporal waved his backup off. "Sorry, Agent Granger. We got a report of a man with a gun and, well, you know how jumpy people have been." He helped Cody back up and handed him the ID back.

Cody nodded and stuffed the folder back in his pocket and retrieved his gun from the Corporal as well. "Yeah, I know. No problem - nice to see someone was on the ball. No one even twitched when I had to unload and pack the gun back east."

The Corporal snorted. "Not surprised. They probably get way more of this than we do."

Lars chuckled. "Except during hunting season - but a handgun isn't a rifle and its not hunting season, right?"

"Depends on what you're hunting." The Corporal said, with a grin.

"True enough. We free to go, Corporal? We've got to get up to Cascade and I'd like to get there before sundown." Lars asked, watching the time, expecting their mom or dad to call to see how things were progressing.

"Sure. Have a safe trip." The Corporal said, turning and walking back to his car.

Lars and Cody both let out relieved sighs before climbing into Lars' Cadillac. "You getting tired of being asked 'you related to that guy on the news'?" Cody asked.

Lars shrugged. "Billings is so small, it spread real quick that I wasn't going to listen to any of those kind of questions. No one asked."

"Lucky bastard." Cody said.

Lars jumped when his cell phone started playing Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries. He handed the phone to Cody. "You answer it. I'm one of those who tries not to talk and drive at the same time."

Cody flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

_"Cody? Why are you answering your brother's cell?"_ Cat Granger's voice sounded concerned, worried and tired all at the same time.

"Because he likes to keep both hands on the steering wheel." Cody replied. "How's CeeJay?"

_"Resting. And kicking me out of his room."  
_  
"He's awake now?" Cody asked. Lars glanced at Cody, then back at the road.

_"Sorta. He woke up when he heard me arguing with his doctor and told me to get my butt in a real bed, then went right back to sleep."  
_  
Cody snorted. "Sounds like CeeJay. Where are you and Dad staying?"

_"We've been invited to stay at Alan Eppes' place. Well, technically it belongs to his son, Charlie, but ..."_

"It was his to begin with? Wait, isn't Don Eppes CeeJay's boss? His bosses father invited you to stay at his house? Wow."

Lars reached a stop light just off airport property and held out his hand.

_"It's not the first time for your father ... he stayed there the last time Squirt ended up in the hospital."  
_  
Cody nodded. "Yeah, I remember Dad saying something about that. I'm handing the phone to Lars. We're at a stop light."

_"Okay."_

"Mama? How's everyone?"

_"As well as can be expected ... CeeJay woke up enough to tell me to leave, your father is hovering over me and the nice young doctor assigned to your brother -for some reason - sided with your little brother in kicking me out of his room for the night."  
_  
Lars swallowed the laugh that threatened to come out and cleared his throat. "How's your back doing?"

_"It's working its way through a Waltz and gearing up into a full Samba. Other than that, I'm doing okay now that CeeJay told me where to go."_ Her smile was evident in the tone of her voice.

"Mama, he's just as worried about you as the rest of us." The light turned green. "I'm handing the phone back to Code." He did and pulled through the intersection.

"Mom? You aren't going to believe how Cliff is getting here." Cody said.

_"He's been notified? Good, we hadn't heard anything about that. What do you know about it, Cody?"_

"Um.... Director Atwater told me that Cliff had been notified and was being shipped home courtesy of the Dept. of State. As a favor to the Bureau, I think that's the way he put it."

_"The State Department? Oh joy! We'll be lucky if he makes it home before its time for Colby to head back to LA after his medical leave."  
_  
Cody shrugged even though his mother couldn't see him.

_"Oh well, at least he's been told and is slowly making his way home."_ Catherine Granger admitted, albeit rather reluctantly. _"Gar, wait a second ... oh, all right. Cody, talk to your father."  
_  
"Yes, ma'am."

Cody shot his brother a look but Lars simply shrugged, his attention on the road.

_"Cody, Doris called me a while ago ... you and Lars are going to be drafted into a 'crew' come morning. I suggest you get some sleep tonight and play catch-up with Lars, Auntie Dee and anyone else later."  
_  
"A crew?" Cody asked, mystified.

_"You got me, that's all Doris would say."_

Cody sighed. "Oh, Lord...maybe we should hide. No telling what Auntie Dee has in store for us."

Lars mouthed "What?"

"Auntie Dee is putting us to work, Lars." Cody said.

"Tell me something I couldn't guess..." Lars groused as he turned north onto Hwy 55.

Cody snorted.

"How's Mom?" Cody asked his father.

_"Honestly? Your mother is more stubborn than the worst Army Mule from Missouri ever __**dreamed**__ of being. She wasn't going to leave CeeJay's bedside until he told her to get out of there. I think the idea of him trying to get up and physically remove her is the only reason she capitulated."_

Cody started to laugh and in the background he could hear a smacking sound and then his father saying_, "What, woman? It's true and you know it."  
_  
"What's happening?" Lars asked his brother. Cody relayed the tale as it was and Lars started to laugh.

"So, you two are going to...the Eppes' house now?"

_"Yeah. Alan's coming back to take us, we'll get a cab or rental car in the morning."  
_  
"Wow, that's really nice of him. Alan is Don's father?" Cody asked.

_"Yes. Sorry, I keep forgetting the rest of the family hasn't met the Eppes clan."_

"Well, it's not like you haven't had anything else on your mind. Did Mom rip Don into shreds about CeeJay?"

Lars eyed his brother but couldn't do much more than that, it was rapidly growing dark and he needed to stay focused on the road.

_"I'm not sure exactly what she said to him ... but he looked like someone had kicked him in the ... __**gut**__ ... when she was done."  
_  
Cody's eyes popped open. "Jeez...well, it couldn't have been too bad, could it?"

"Cody, what is going on?" Lars demanded of his younger brother.

_"I guess it depends on your point of view, Cody. Look, Alan just arrived. We'll call you again tomorrow - give you both an excuse to get away from Doris and whatever she's got planned."  
_  
"Yes, sir. Thank Alan for both of us and Cliff too. Love you." Cody said.

Cody relayed his question and their father's answer to Lars who only shook his head in response.

"Oh Jeez ... Mom tearing into an Senior FBI Agent ... why do I feel sorry for the man?"

Cody closed the phone and dropped it into one of the multiple pockets in the console in the Escalade. He leaned back against the cushy seat and tried not to yawn but failed miserably. It had been a REAL long day for him.

Lars shot a glance at his younger brother and then chuckled. "Go ahead and nap, Code. I'll wake you if I'm going to do something exciting - like crash."

Cody looked at his brother. "Well, gee, thanks." He swallowed and asked, "CeeJay's gonna be all right, isn't he?" It was a question that had lurked in the back of his mind ever since learning what had happened, seeing the video tape hadn't done anything to alleviate that worry.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me, including Mom and Dad, so I'm inclined to believe it."

"Okay. I am too." He yawned again. "Night, Lars." He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

"Nighty-nite, Younger-But-Not-Youngest."

* * *

**Lars picks up Cliff at the airport**

It was well past midnight when Lars' cell phone started to play _'Stars and Stripes Forever.' _Without hesitation, he leaned over and picked it upoff the nightstand. _'Stars and Stripes_...' was his 'emergency' ring tone. It was loud enough to wake him from a dead sleep. He glanced at the CallerID but didn't recognize the number. Unbidden, his stomach clenched in worry.

"Lars Granger." he answered.

_"Lars? It's Cliff. I'm at Vandenberg Air Force Base. I should be in Cascade by 03:00. Can you fetch me from the air field?"_

Lars held the cell away from him for a moment and looked at it. Had he heard his brother right?

_"Lars?"_ Cliff's voice echoed across the cell's speaker. _"I don't have a lot of time. Can you pick me up at the airfield or should I make arrangements with Aunt Doris or Sgt Huston?"_

"Of course I can come get you. What the hell are you doing in the States?" Lars replied.

There was a dry chuckle from Cliff's end. _"I'll tell you when I get there. See you soon."_ Cliff hung up, leaving Lars listening to the dial tone.

Lars closed his phone and frowned. Cody had told him that Cliff had been notified about Squirt but had he told him that Cliff was coming home and Lars just missed it?

He shook his head. No matter. Cliff was on his way and Lars had to go get him.

* * *

Summer in the mountains, at night anyway, was cold. No matter the temperature during the day, at night it was just plain cold. Lars stood next to his Cadillac Escalade; hands stuffed in his pockets and stamped his feet. He pulled one hand free of the pocket and looked at his watch before stuffing his hands back into the pocket. 2:50 a.m.

Cliff, supposedly, would be arriving in ten minutes but Lars wasn't holding his breath. The Cascade Airfield was locked up tighter than a drum and still as a tomb. The minutes ticked by. Then at 2:58 a.m., the runway lit up. If Lars squinted real hard, he could just barely make out a glowing dot off to the North. As he watched, the dot got bigger and bigger.... morphing into a corporate jet. The jet landed and taxied close to where Lars stood. As it turned, Lars was able to read the lettering on the fuselage and got the shock of his life.

'United States of America' was printed in Columbia Blue paint. The seal of the State Department was emblonized on the tail.

His mouth hanging open, Lars watched the jet stop, a door in the fuselage open and his brother, Cliff, stumbling down the stairs, duffle slung across his back.

"What the f...?" Lars started to say. He walked forward, grabbing Cliff in a bear hug, his eyes watering slightly from Cliff's too ripe flight suit. Behind them, the engines wound up on the jet, it taxied back to the runway, then took off, becoming only a smudge against the night sky in a matter of moments. The runway lights were doused, plunging the airport back into darkness.

"What the hell?" Lars asked.

"Can we talk in the car? It's freezing out here." Cliff replied.

Lars obliged, taking Cliff's duffle from him and guiding him to the Escalade. One push of a button on the key fob and the tailgate opened smoothly. The duffle was stored, the tailgate closed and both brothers got into the SUV. Lars spared not a word, cranked the engine and headed for home.

* * *

"Strip. Before I let you in the house, strip and toss that crap toward the burn barrel."

"You come into the house stinking like that and we'll never get it out."

"I can't -- issued -- not mine --- oh hell... Right. I reek." Cliffton started stripping out the flight suit he was wearing like it was some sort of living beast he was trying to get away from.

Lars took pity on his brother, made him sit down and helped him to take off the flight suit. After a couple of minutes, he finally wrestled the suit off Cliff and left him in his uniform. "Now,I think you can handle that don't you?"

"Yeah ... Maybe. I mean, yes. I have gotten from my quarters to CiC without recalling how I got there ... So I am pretty sure I can undress and shower in my sleep."

"Uh, huh...the uniform goes too."

"Whaaa? No ... Just let me launder it. I can't afford to replace a full uniform just yet."

"Okay...but it comes off before you go in."

"Fine . . . " Cliff started shucking the uniform off, his speed increasing the more he removed, until he was buck naked and darted into the house out of the chill breeze coming across the lake. "Damn! I don't remember it being this cold the last time I was home!"

Lars started to laugh. He sat down on the porch steps and laughed some more. He laughed until he had tears coming down his face. He wiped the tears away, collected his brother's ripe attire and went inside, dumping it in the washing machine.

Cliff was digging through the cabinets. "Where might mom have hidden the vinegar? Ah! Here it is." He walked over to the machine with the bottle of white vinegar and started dumping it into the tub until he'd put about a cup in. Then he tossed in about a half cup of baking soda and that was before he tossed in the detergent.

"Toil, toil, toil and trouble, cauldron burn and cauldron bubble." Lars quipped.

"Laugh all you want, bro ... just one wash with this concoction and you'll never know I wore it for WAY too long." Cliff started the wash and then, with all the dignity a naked man could have in his parent's house, he walked out of the kitchen, into the living area and up the stairs to the bathroom he used to share with Lars.

"Don't use all the hot water!" Lars shouted after him.

"**God Damn it**." There was a snarling sound from upstairs. Cody stormed out of his room, his service pistol in hand, just in time to scare the beejeebees out of Lars as he topped the stairs in Cliff's wake.

"Damn, Code! Put that away before you shoot a family member."

"It's 4 fucking o'clock in the morning!!! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Cliff's home. And if your nose worked, you'd know that." Lars pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "I'd better check on him in a few minutes. He's so damn tired he's likely to fall asleep standing up and drown in there."

Cody muttered something about not making enough noise to wake the dead and went back to his bedroom, slamming door behind him.

Five minutes after that, Lars barged into the bathroom and, sure enough, Cliff was sitting on the floor of the shower, snoring.

Lars shook his head, rolled up his sleeve, leaned in and turned off the shower.

He reached for a towel and draped it over Cliff's shoulder than shook him awake. "Wakey, wakey bro."

"Huh? Lars? HowinthehelldidyougetontheBigE?"

"Bro...look around." Lars said gently.

Cliff did just that, his eyes blinking against the water streaming from his hair. "Okaaaaaay. How did I get home?"

"Dept. of State jet, about an hour ago."

"Oh ... right." Cliff scrambled to his feet and scrubbed his body dry before wrapping the towel around his waist.

"To bed with you." Lars said, pointing at the door.

"In a minute ... what's the latest you heard on Squirt?"

"I got a call from Mom this evening and Squirt's doing much better. They're about to transfer him to a regular room."

"Really?" Lars nodded in affirmation of Cliff's question. "Great. Okay ... bed...." And Cliff stumbled from the bathroom, barely missing going over the railing at the top of the stairwell, and tumbling down the steps, before he managed, somehow, to get back on track and crashed into his old bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

Face down.

Sprawled.

Boneless.

Lars again shook his head. He followed Cliff into the bedroom and yanked the quilt out from under him, spreading it over him.

He then turned and left the room, headed for his own bed.

* * *

**Lars gets a call from CeeJay**

"You want me to go to an early grave, Squirt? You trying to scare 10 years off my life!?"

_"Hey, it's not like I planned this!"  
_  
"You never do!"

Colby started to laugh_. "Damn, it's good to hear your voice, Bro."_

"And yours too. When you get back here, I am not letting you out of my sight."

_"Oh shit, Lars. You too? Mom's already threatening me with a real ball and chain...."_

"I'll help! Damn, fit you with a GPS collar!"

_"That might have actually been a great help earlier."  
_  
"Not funny, CeeJay. Not funny."

_"Who's laughing?"_

"That Squirt?" Cody asked Lars. "Give me the phone, I got a couple things to say to him."

Lars relinquished the phone without letting Colby know.

Colby was still talking_. "... It's not like you're the one sitting here with bruises on your chest."_

"Squirt? What the hell? Bruises?" Cody asked.

_"Cody?! __**Damn**__ it." _

Lars did not respond, he hadn't told anyone what his father had told him.

"CeeJay, what the hell did you get yourself into?"

_"Cody, your clearance level is probably high enough ... find a secure high-speed line and pull the reports. No... wait."_ Colby took a deep breath.

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

_"Yeah, I know - give me back to Lars for sec, 'kay?"  
_  
"All right." Cody handed the phone back to Lars.

"Yeah?" Lars asked.

_"Lars, Dad said he told you? What happened?"_

Lars frowned. He turned away from Cody and walked over to the kitchen sink, looking out the window toward the barn. "You don't remember anything?"

_"I remember some ... what I want to know is - did Dad tell you I died? Technically anyway?"  
_  
Lars swallowed. "Yeah, he did."

_"Have you told Code?"  
_  
"No, and I'm not going to either."

_"No, you're not. Before you hand the phone back to him ... tell him to sit down."  
_  
"Okay." He turned back to his younger brother. "CeeJay says that before you talk to him again, have a seat."

Cody's eyes widened but he sat down on one of the high kitchen chairs set around the breakfast bar.

"Okay, he's seated."

_"Hand him the phone, Lars."_Lars did.

Cody accepted the phone with a sense of dread. "CeeJay? What's going on?"

_"Code ... Cody, the reason I'm bruised up is because I had to have CPR done on me."  
_  
Cody swallowed. He didn't answer for a long moment, when he did, he said, "I figured that. How are you doing now?"

_"Doing okay. Sore as hell but otherwise okay."_ He smiled over at his latest watchdog, who'd been there when he had fallen asleep after Bradford had left and was still sitting there. _"Plenty of friends here making sure I don't do anything too stupid before I'm back to my old self."_

"Good. They deserve hazard pay keeping up with you." Cody said.

Colby relayed his brother's words to his watchdog and Cody could hear feminine laughter on the other end of the phone.

_"Wait...is that the looker on your team? The profiler?"_

"How in the hell do you know what Reeves looks like, Cody William?"

_"I've got my sources, Bro. Dad said she was a looker."  
_  
Lars shook his head.

_"Yeah, right. And Dad wonders where we get the flirt genes ... Yeah, that was Megan you heard cackling like a hen."_

***THWAP**!*

_"Hey, injured agent! Watch it!"  
_  
Cody laughed. "You asked for it, Squirt. Hey, put her on for a moment."

_"Sure. Megan? Meet Cody - the __**other**__ FBI agent in the family."  
_  
"Megan? May I call you Megan?"

Lars eyebrows went up. "What are you doing?" he asked his brother.

_"Certainly, Agent Granger."_ Her voice was warm and filled with mirth, Cody got the impression she was still tickled at CeeJay.

Cody shook his head.

"Okay, in that case, call me Cody."

_"All right, what can I do for you__**, Cody**__?"_

"I wanted to thank you for keeping my baby brother out of trouble for the moment. He's a handful but we've gotten used to having him around, ya know?"

_"I second that notion ... Colby, behave. For some reason your brother still wants you around."  
_  
"Brothers..." Lars chimed in, in the background.

_"Excuse me ... __**Brothers**__."_ Megan relayed.

"The next time I get to LA, which may be sooner rather than later, Colby will have introduce me to everyone on his team. It would be a pleasure to meet all of you."

_"I think we could handle meeting another Granger -- after all, we put up with two Eppes."_

_'Now, Megan, Charlie's not all that bad...'_ Colby could be heard in the background.

_"I wasn't talking about Charlie..."_ Megan replied, holding the phone away from her.

_'Oh, well, yeah - but that's just Big Brother Syndrome happening.'_

Lars motioned for Cody to hand him the phone.

"Um...Megan, do you mind talking to yet another Granger? My brother Lars wants to put in a few words."

_"Lars? The oddball of the bunch? Sure."  
_  
"Is that what CeeJay says??? Man!!! I'm going to have to let Lars know."

_'Megan!'_

_"What? You didn't tell me you had a brother named Lars - I thought you all had C names?"_

Lars took the phone from Cody. "My given name, Agent Reeves, is Clyde. I prefer Lars. May I call you Megan?"

_"Oh. Uh, okay. Yeah, Lars is a lot safer and, yes, feel free to call me whatever you want."  
_  
_'She's spoken for Lars!'_ Colby could be heard in the background. _'And he's the jealous type!_'

"Tell CeeJay I remember that from the last time his skinny butt was in a hospital bed, Megan?"

_"Yes, what can I do for you, Lars?"_ She asked once the message relay was done.

"Like my brother, I just wanted to say thank you. I know it's not easy working with..." Lars had to stop himself. He almost called Colby 'Squirt' in front of a non-family member. "...Colby but yeah, he's good to have around."

_"You're welcome ... I'm just glad we were in time to--" _She stopped, then recalling what she'd overheard_. "Well, save his skinny butt."_

Both Lars and Cody laughed.

"One of these days all of us Grangers are just going to descend on L.A. and bring embarrassing pictures with us."

__

"Oooh, promise? I'll provide snack foods!"

Megan teased, enjoying watching her teammate blush as he overheard everything, she had placed the phone on speaker a while back.

"Hey, we might even bring the baby pictures!" Lars promised.

_"Lars!"_ Colby protested finally.

"Hush, CeeJay or I'll tell her what Mom used to call you." Lars said, grinning at Cody.

"Dirty pool, bro." Cody said.

_"Oh, now that has to be good - I've never seen Colby blush quite that shade of red?"  
_  
Lars snickered. "Yeah, it's good but I'm not going to use that threat just yet. Seriously, thank you, I hope my brother realizes how fortunate he is to work with people he has on his team. Not everyone is that lucky."

_"I think it's sinking in."_ Megan said as she looked sideways at Colby from where she sat on the edge of his bed. _"I know I've been lucky to have him as a teammate - he's one of the few who actually lets me be me."_

Lars smiled. "He's good that way. Okay, we won't take any more of your time. Just know that we owe all of you a _huge_ debt of thanks. Put my baby brother back on the phone, will ya?"

_"Certainly."_ She punched the button that put the phone back on private and handed it to Colby. _"I'll be right outside for a few minutes, okay 'CeeJay'?"_

Colby nodded.

"Bro, I'll get you go, I know you've got to be tired but man, thank you for calling. Really."

"That goes for me too!" Cody said, in the background.

_"Yeah, I'm tired but - you know, this is the longest I've managed to stay awake since waking up in CCU?"  
_  
"Really?"

_"Yeah. Once this is all over and done with - if I can get the okay from the higher-ups - I'll tell you the full story, Lars. If you want to hear it."_

"Man," Cody said, shaking his head. "Waking up in the Critical Care Unit, that must've been a real WTF moment."

_"Waking up here was a damn sight better than not."_

"I didn't say it wasn't, bro."

_"I know, Code, I know."_ Colby tried to stifle a yawn. _"Damn it. I wish this would hurry up and quit."_

"In due time, Squirt, in due time." Lars said. "Get some rest now while you can. We intend to run your ass ragged when you get back here."

"_Just leave me my old chores in the barn, I'll get to them."_ Colby muttered, trying to fight off a sudden onslaught of the sleepies.

"Hang up the phone, Squirt. We'll talk later. Love ya' bro." Lars said, with Cody echoing his sentiments.

_  
"Luv ya too."_ Colby barely managed to say as he disconnected the phone and fell straight to sleep. He didn't realize it, but Megan came back in the room, removed the phone from his hand and actually 'tucked' him in. She then returned to the chair she was keeping warm for either his mother or Chief Granger.

~*~ **END** ~*~

~*~ Book One ~*~

Book Two To Follow


	3. Book Two Cliffton Forrest Granger

**Tales of the Granger Brothers  
Book Two: Cliffton Forrest**

By Suisan, Twisted Evilette with assistance from AmyD, the other Twisted Evilette

* * *

CVN74 Battle Group

CVN65 Enterprise

Persian Gulf Deployment

0300hrs Saturday Zulu Time

0700hrs Saturday Local Time

2000hrs Friday Los Angeles, CA

Chief Petty Officer Granger tried to stifle the yawn he felt building as he stepped through the hatchway into the cubby that housed the Cryptological section on the Big E, but ended up yawning anyway. The entire section had been placed on 'alert' three days ago and, coming in for day four, the Chief realized he was nearing the end of his endurance for back-to-back watches with barely a watch between for down time.

Not a single member of his work section was on station, yet, which was how it should be – the 'boss' should always be at post before the rest of his (or her) team. He walked over to where the Crypties had gotten permission to set up a coffee urn, maintained by the Cook's Mates, and after finding his usual mug, poured himself a cupful and sipped at the bitter brew.

"I'm surprised you weren't stopped from setting foot in here, Chief. Figured the Marine Guard or Master at Arms would've hauled you off for a 'talk' already."

Cliffton felt his shoulders tense up the second the man behind him had started yakking, the voice belonged to someone he usually avoided – only the current situation played merry havoc with Lt. Commander Hardtell's well-thought-out scheduling. He turned to face CPO Bartosz. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Bartmunch?"

"Oh, right … the communiqué came in *_after_* your last duty watch. You don't know." Bartosz's smile was one that Cliffton could only categorize as 'slimy.'

"No, I don't have a clue and won't until you tell me – so go ahead and tell me."

"I'm not even sure I can – legally – tell you, Granger … I mean, it's pretty much a 'given' that if there's one traitor in a nest of vipers, then there are others."

Now not only was he not fully awake, Cliffton was also thoroughly confused. "Vipers? Traitors? Bartmunch, you been smokin' something you shouldn't – again?"

CPO Fredrick Bartosz flapped a piece of paper in Cliffton's face, the way it was flapping told him it had come in on the confidential wireless, and continued to gloat. "At least I'm not the CPO standing here who has a fucking traitor in the family. You did tell me, once, that your youngest brother is named 'Colby' right? Or am I confusing you with some other 'Granger'?"

Quicker than Bartosz had apparently expected, Cliffton reached out and snagged the paperwork from the other man's hand. He carefully set his mug of steaming coffee down on the countertop as he rapidly scanned the information, his heart starting to pound a swift tempo in his chest even as it dropped toward his stomach. "Regret to inform you … yada yada yada … has been placed under arrest … oh shit!"

"Yeah, ain't it a hoot? Your FBI Agent of a brother gets arrested for being a fucking spy for the gawddamn ChiComs – even as we're sitting here coordinating satellite intercepts for the real spies at the CIA. Coincidence? I doubt it. Hell, I bet you're the next member of your family who'll be arrest---!"

Chief Petty Officer, Cryptological Technician Admin, Cliffton Forrest Granger didn't let CPO Fredrick Bartosz finish his statement before his fist was planted in the other man's face. "Shut your suck." The words were quiet, barely traveling beyond where the two men were standing.

"Oooh, touched a nerve there, huh, Chief?" Bartosz was holding his jaw, but still flapping his lips. He looked over his shoulder at the rest of his watch, "Guess CPO Granger didn't know after all, boys!" He turned back to face Cliffton. "If I were you, I'd go ahead and just fucking confess, Granger. Who knows, the way you are, you might just love Club Gitmo." His voice lowered, but not so much others in the room wouldn't hear what he said. "After all, you keep running off to the same area of Dubai every time we put into port, bet you got yourself a sweet little Arabian to poke. Going to convert to Islam anytime soon there, Granger?"

He knew he shouldn't have thrown the first punch, and he really knew he should've just walked away after Bartosz's last comment, but Cliffton wasn't exactly thinking properly. However he was thinking. "Hey, Bartosz, watch it, someone spilled something there on the deck." He pointed downward, causing the other man to look, which is when he threw the next punch. "Whoa! Sorry about that, Bartosz. Should've warned you sooner. You all right? No? Let's step outside for a minute…" He practically grabbed the man by the back of his duty dungarees and tossed him at the hatch. "Man, how many times do you have to be told, Bartosz? You unstep the latch first, then push the hatch open." That was when CPO Bartosz finally realized he was about to get his ass kicked and started to fight back.

Cliffton wasn't as fast as he had been in his youth, but he wasn't a slow poke either. He was, however, pissed off and not thinking straight, which affected his ability to avoid punches. So he actually _let_ Fred Bartosz land a few licks, especially when it meant that – by taking those blows – he could close in tight on the man and deliver three hits in exchange for one. Even in the close confines of the causeway between CIC and Crypto.

The thunder of heavily booted feet echoed through Cliffton's ears just before someone stronger than he grabbed him from behind and tossed him to the deck – even as someone else ripped Bartosz from his grasp.

"Bartosz! Granger! What the fuck are you two doing?!" The voice that roared down the causeway from CIC belonged to none other than Lieutenant Commander Conrad Hardtell. "Make way, Marines." The Lt. Commander pushed past two of the four burly Marines from the Big E's security contingent and came to a stop in front of Cliffton. "You don't look all that bad." He turned and peered at Bartosz. "You, on the other hand … Take him to Sick Bay and do not let him out of your sight, Corporal." The Marine holding Bartosz upright nodded, then along with one other Marine, escorted the battered CPO away. "Granger, what the hell brought that on? I thought you were past your anger issues?"

"Sir, I was." Without another word he handed the balled up facsimile sheet, Cliffton hadn't let it go before beating the snot out of CPO Bartosz, and waited as Hardtell smoothed the page out and read the information.

"I just heard about this … your youngest brother, I believe?" Granger nodded. "From the way CPO Bartosz looked, I'm assuming he used this to somehow piss you off?" Another tight nod of acknowledgement. "Fine. You knew what would happen … Marines, take CPO Granger to the brig. I need to go tell the Old Man about this and see what we need to do next. Dismissed."

* * *

CVN65 Enterprise

Persian Gulf Deployment

1147hrs Saturday Local Time

Cliffton was lying back on a bunk in the brig when the hatch popped open and a female in Marine utilities and wearing the three up and two down stripe insignia of a Gunnery Sergeant on her camouflage utilities stepped through. He moved to stand up, only she waved him back.

"Relax, CPO Granger. I'm just here to talk with you for a few minutes before going to talk with CPO Bartosz in Sick Bay." She didn't remove her cap and that's when Cliffton realized she was carrying a sidearm. That meant she was probably a Master-At-Arms, but he didn't recognize her so she wasn't from the Big E's compliment of Marines.

"Yes, Ma'am." He still stood up and waited to sit back on the bunk until after the Gunny had sat down on the bench across from him.

"Don't 'Ma'am' me – I work for a living." She groused even as she smiled at him. "CPO Granger, I'm Gunnery Sergeant Dunbar, I'm currently assigned as a supernumerary to the Stennis, but I'm here as a favor to Rear Admiral MacIvers in my guise as a NCIS Agent. And, as I'm sure you are expecting, I've got a few questions for you." She pulled a mini-digital recorder from her breast pocket. "You don't mind if I record this?"

"No, Sergeant."

"Good." She sat back, her legs crossing in front of her as she leaned against the wall. "Did you know your brother was arrested for allegedly spying for a foreign state prior to walking into Crypto this morning?"

"No. The first I'd heard of it was Bartosz crowing about it."

"Would you be surprised to learn that the members of his watch I've already talked to have confirmed that he withheld that particular communiqué from the Skipper's information packet just so he could, and I'm going to quote here, 'get your goat'?"

Cliffton let out a snort of disgust. "No, that wouldn't surprise me in the least, Sergeant."

She quirked an odd smile at him. "I take it you and Bartosz have a 'history' of conflict?"

It was his turn to grin. "You could say that… Might be more accurate to say we just can't stand each other."

"Lieutenant Commander Hardtell praised the two of you, you more than Bartosz I think, but called you both Oil and Fire. Combustible. Which is why he worked to get the two of you on opposite shifts." She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees as she asked the next question. "I found it very curious that Bartosz volunteered to cover for another CTA on shift that would bump up against yours. Any idea why he'd do that, Chief?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Unless he was looking for a reason to get up in my face again." Cliffton thought back to the last time he had 'tangoed' with Bartosz. "Which would be a pretty stupid move in his part – the last time we ended up in the boxing ring on the flight ready deck and I wiped the floor with him."

"So I've heard." She sat back up straight. "Are you always so quick to fight, Chief?"

"No, not really. Gunny … would you mind not calling me 'Chief'?" He tried his most disarming smile on the Marine, but from her expression, she wasn't buying it. "It's just that my father is a Chief of Police and every time you say 'chief' I feel like I should turn and see him standing behind me."

"Fair enough, Granger." She stood up and he made to follow suit but once again, she waved him back down. "Don't mind me, Granger, I just think better on my feet." He nodded, having had the same problem himself for a while – at least since attaining Admin status. "Right, okay, I still have to intervie—_talk_ with CPO Bartosz, but right at this moment unless something really drastic and contradictory comes up against you, I'm going to be recommending a Captain's Mast for you. Are you ready to face the consequences of that?"

"Yes, Ma'… Gunny. I knew what could – and should – happen to me before I ever threw a punch."

"Good man. I've also been given the task of re-vetting your security clearance. Anything I should know about before I dig it up?"

Cliffton met her intense blue-gray gaze and weighed his options. He could give her part of the truth and wait to see just how good she was, the Navy never put dunces in NCIS, or he could just tell her the whole, unvarnished truth. "Gunny, before I answer that – what is your current clearance level?"

Her expression was calculating and thoughtful before Gunnery Sergeant Dunbar answered. "High enough that I've been asked to reevaluate your clearance level without anyone back at DoD or DoN throwing a major hissy."

He nodded. Cliffton made his choice. "Gunny, when you go digging, you're going to find I've met with a United Arab Emirates citizen several times in the last three deployments I've been on here in the PG. You'll also find a flag on my file that was placed there by The Company at the behest of my maternal grandfather."

"Really? And why would your grandfather have that kinda pull with Spook Central?"

"He was a station chief for them – in Argentina – shortly after they became 'Spook Central' as you called it."

Dunbar sat back down on the bench, hard. "Damn! Really? Hay-zus on a pogo-stick. You're related to Bobby 'Top Act' Larsen?" Cliffton had never heard that particular nickname for his grandfather, but nodded an affirmative. She whistled low enough not to alert her fellow Marines just outside the hatch. "Well, that's going to make reevaluating your security clearance either a real breeze or one bitch of a cluster."

"Gunny, just so you know, I don't know anything for certain but I know here—" he placed his right hand over his heart, "―that my brother isn't the traitor he appears to be at this moment."

She turned off the recorder and pocketed it before saying anything in response. "Granger, I hope to hell you're correct about that, but you have to admit – it isn't very often the FBI screws up so publicly when tossing that particular accusation around." There wasn't much Cliffton could say to that, so he settled for just nodding and staring at a point on the deck just beyond the toes of his soft-soled deck shoes. Until a pair of brightly polished combat boots stepped into his field of vision and he looked up when the Sergeant touched him on the shoulder. "Chief Petty Officer Granger, stay out of trouble for the rest of the cruise, will ya? I'd like to get back to Camp Pendleton and my team there without further incidents on the Big E. Got that?"

"Yes, Gunny. No more wiping the deck with fellow CPOs." He stood up when she stepped back and knocked on the hatch.

"If you decide you need to work off excess energy, contact Gunny Wilmoth here. He's always looking for new sparing partners."

"I'll do that." Cliffton watched her leave, feeling a little better about his soon-to-be-faced disciplinary hearing. The sound of the metal hatch clanging closed behind Marine Gunnery Sergeant Dunbar no longer sounded like the death knell of his career.

Of course, once his mother found out what he'd done, he was dead anyway. But, in his own defense, CPO Buttmunch Fredrick Bartosz had bad-mouthed his little brother….

* * *

**Five Weeks Later**

CVN65 Enterprise

Persian Gulf Deployment

0200hrs Local Time

"Chief?" Cliffton tried to ignore the prodding and rolled over onto his side. "Chief? Chief, I know you just got to bed but Skipper's requested your presence ASAP."

He flopped back onto his back in the bunk and blinked his eyes open and groaned as he realized he wasn't dreaming. Petty Officer Roger Brennan really _was_ standing over him in his quarters, trying to rouse him from the first decent chance he'd had a chance to grab in 40 days. "Pee-Oh Brennan, you have one minute to explain why you're in my quarters, and not at your duty station, before I bounce you out of here. Make it good. Go." Cliffton started to mentally count to sixty.

"Chief, the Skipper got some sort of encrypted message – I didn't see it personally – and after he read it, he sent me to come get you and take you to his ready room."

That brought Cliffton to full awareness and he swung off the bunk. "Who handled the decrypt?" He was racking his brain, trying to recall who was on duty and couldn't get past the fatigue-induced fog in his head.

"Senior Chief Denauge. She happened to be walking by when the communiqué came in and I realized I didn't have the clearance or the decrypts to perform it myself." Brennan reached behind him and snagged the duty-shirt and pants from the wall peg where Cliffton had placed them before collapsing into his bunk. "Here, Chief. Skipper was pretty adamant that I bring you fast as possible."

Throwing the clothes on, Cliffton followed Petty Officer Brennan through the corridors of the Enterprise, buttoning up his shirt and tucking it in as they quickly walked toward the bridge and CIC. Brennan peeled off, back into Crypto-Communications and his duty station, while Cliffton continued a few more paces bow-ward, then knocked on the hatch leading to the ship's command ready room.

"ENTER!" Rear Admiral MacIvers voice echoed through the hatch and Cliffton stepped on into the room. Trying desperately not to think about the last time he'd faced MacIvers – at the Captain's Mast disciplinary hearing that resulted in his losing one-month's wages and being placed on close-quarters 'arrest' for 5 days.

"Chief Petty Officer Granger, reporting as ordered, sir."

"Close the hatch, Granger, and relax." MacIvers invited, even as the older man stood up, approached the built-in credenza where he poured two cups of coffee – handing one to Cliffton – before sitting back down behind the desk.

Cliffton took the coffee, gratefully, and sipped at the heady brew even as he managed to find a seat and, with a nod of permission from MacIvers, sat down. "Sir, why am I here?"

MacIvers put his coffee mug down, then pushed a flimsy piece of paper around on the desktop without actually passing it to Cliffton. "Chief, we got word today about your brother . . . the one who was arrested five, six weeks ago?"

"Colby? What's happened?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the Admiral's next words, but also dreaded not knowing. The last time he'd gotten a chance to call home and got Mom on the line, he could tell she was hanging together by a mere thread.

"I'm not clear on the particulars but … Chief, your brother is in critical condition at a Los Angeles hospital and I've been given orders – from the State Department no less – to get your ass home."

"What?" Cliffton felt his heart drop into his stomach. "What the hell happened, Skipper? The last I knew, Colby was in a federal lock up awaiting trial!" He put the mug in his hand down on the desk before he dropped it.

"Like I said, I'm not clear on the details, but I do know he was pulled off a slow boat to China and air evac'ed to UCLA Medical Center. Apparently, he got into the middle of an international cluster fuck and got hurt in the process."

"Oh god—"

MacIvers stood up and came around the desk to place a supportive hand on Cliffton's shoulder. "Cliff, this can't be easy to hear, I know, and I'm about to make things worse … you've got fifteen minutes to pack as little as you need and get your ass up to the flight deck. Captain Potter is going to fly you outta here on her bird."

* * *

When he arrived at the Pilot's Ready Room, Cliffton found the Marine pilot waiting for him. She took his small duffle bag from him, even as she tossed a flight suit into his arms.

"Change, Chief. We need to be in my Harrier and ready to launch in five." She pointed him in the direction of the locker room. "Introductions will come later … move it, Chief."

Cliffton, still a little too foggy to be thinking straight, stumbled toward the indicated room – more like a large closet than a true room – and within a few minutes had changed out of his duty coveralls into the one-piece flight suit. When he stepped back out into the Ready Room, the Marine Captain was waiting for him and stepped right up to Cliffton, invading his personal space.

"Sorry, Chief. I would've asked one of the other pilots to come and check you, but the ones who are awake are actually flying patrol." Her smile was sly and strangely bashful. "Since I'm about to get up close and personal, Chief, maybe I should introduce myself. Captain Ginger Potter."

"Chief Petty Officer Cliffton Granger." He tried not to make any undo noises when the pilot dropped down on her haunches to inspect the way he'd closed off certain, lower, parts of the specialized suit that would keep him from blacking out at higher gravities. "Everything set to your satisfaction, Ma'am?" He asked when she stood back up.

"Someone neglected to tell me you've had flight time." She looked a little upset, but more put out than anything else. "Everything looks good, Chief." Captain Potter walked over to a spare locker and pulled out one of the many 'extra' helmets stored there and tossed it at him. "Let's go. My bird should be fully loaded and ready to go by now." She moved out of the Ready Room, tossing his travel bag toward him – over her shoulder – which he managed to catch with minimal juggling.

Cliffton wasn't sure what he was expecting, since the Big E didn't – currently – have any Marine pilots attached to its compliment of aerial warriors, but the VTOL Harrier jet sitting on the flight deck was definitely not it. The Petty Officer in charge of getting the Marine Captain's bird prepped for flight met both of them at the side of the blue-gray bird with the ladder that assisted both of them to climb into the hot seats. That was when he caught a glimpse of the Captain's call sign painted on the side of her jet and, for the first time since hearing his little brother was in the hospital, let out a slight chuckle.

"Bite it, Chief. I earned that call sign long before the books – or movies for that matter – became huge international hits." She sounded grouchy … and Cliffton realized the call sign was the more 'polite' version of what her fellow pilots probably called her.

"I wasn't going to say a thing, Captain." Cliffton settled into the Weapons/Radar Intercept Officer's slot, nodding thanks to the other CPO who handed him his ditty and the helmet. Once he was helmeted and plugged into the plane's communication system, he asked the question that had been burning his brain since spotting the VTOL bird. "Captain, you going to use the vertical take off or the catapult?"

Potter didn't say anything as the flight deck crew moved her bird into place on the runway. Once she was sure they were in the slot, she answered. "Cat – the other way uses up more fuel than I'm happy with, especially with having to meet up with an Air Force tanker halfway there to top the tanks."

Cliffton made double sure his restraints were properly done up, launching off a catapult was never what any sane person would consider 'fun' – not when the launch could ramp clear up into the 6+ gravities area, and found himself suddenly wishing he hadn't indulged in a cup of coffee before now.

"Witchlady, ready for launch, Big E." Potter was talking to the Enterprise's CAG or Flight Operations officer.

_'Witchlady, you are clear for cat – have a safe flight and remember, first fuel bird will meet you off Sri Lanka over the IO.'_

"Roger that, Big E. Flight command, you have control of the Witchbird."

The voice changed on the radio link in his helmet and Cliffton decided he didn't want to listen in, not really, but he heard the _'launch, launch, launch'_ from flight deck command just before the powerful catapults of the Enterprise grabbed the jet and took it from zero to one hundred and sixty plus miles per hour in less than three seconds. He tried to ignore the sudden drop off the deck before Captain Potter's skills brought her bird off the 'deck' of the Persian Gulf and she went into a nearly vertical climb into the darkness above. Cliffton was still trying to regain his stomach when the Marine opened her radio link to him.

"You okay back there, Chief?"

"Can we go back and pick my stomach off the E's deck?"

"Ha-ha … No. We've got a flight schedule to maintain and that means no backtracking. Believe it or not, your stomach will catch up with you – probably somewhere over the Arabian Sea." Potter flipped the bird to the right, then straightened her out just as fast. "Okay, that was the last course correction I needed to make. If you want, grab a nap."

"You sure about that, Captain?"

"Trust me, I'll wake you up in a damn hurry if something goes hinky or if someone tries to potshot my bird."

He wasn't reassured by the pilot's attitude, Cliffton had read one too many after actions report from Harrier jocks who barely made it out of hot zones. The jets were just too damn vulnerable to heat seeking artillery, which is probably why so few were assigned to duties in the Persian Gulf or other potentially intense combat regions. Shrugging and trying to settle into the RIO's seat as much as was possible, RIOs were usually a lot shorter than Cliffton was, he managed to find a fairly comfortable (as in, not too contorted) position and – trusting the Marine Captain to keep her word – dropped off into a catnap.

* * *

The bed, or rather the chair, he was sleeping in suddenly disappeared under him, then slammed back into his butt, jarring Cliffton wide awake. Then his stomach dropped down to his toes and the accompanying nausea hit the back of his throat just as he realized he was still in the fighter jet behind Marine Captain Potter and his stomach jumped up to where his heart was thumping at double time. He must have made some sort of noise over the radio, for the pilot was talking to him as Cliffton tried to get his stomach back under control.

"Sorry, Chief. I was hoping for a smoother refueling, but we're both being buffeted by alternating air masses and, just for grins and giggles, I'm having to buck that turbulence plus the usual draft of the tanker." Ginger's tone of voice sounded rather put out; as if the Air Force crew of the mid-air jet gas station had somehow planned the difficulties she was facing just to spite her.

Cliffton swallowed against the bile in his throat. "I'm sure the crew – didn't plan – this, Captain."

Potter managed, in some weird manner, to turn in her seat and glance over her shoulder at him. "Chief … you puke in this bird and, so help me, you'll sit in it until Pearl and I'll personally make sure you clean up your mess before you board another plane."

He didn't say anything, just nodded and swallowed against another bout of rising bile as the Marine turned back to watch her flying. Cliffton had never been in a jet long enough to witness a mid-air refueling and the process was more than a little fascinating, and terrifying, especially with all the bouncing and sideways motions the fighter was being pushed through.

The gas 'pipe' on the jet hit the dead center of the odd looking basket on the end of the hose the tanker was dragging and, in a short amount of time, the Harrier was fully reloaded with 'go juice' and the pilot disengaged from the connection. She managed to fly up around to the front of the tanker and gave a little friendly 'wave' with her fighter's wings before leaving the Air Force plane in her wake.

"Next time we'll be over the South China Sea and nearing the day line, Chief. If you can, get some more sleep, I'll try not to rock the cradle as bad as I did this time." Cliffton tried to ignore her tone of voice, as it was rather condescending – typical fighter jock trash talk, but his stomach was very thankful the ferocious atmospheric instability was over. However, he couldn't close his eyes and while there was nothing but stars above, a few clouds around and sea below, he found it to be quite interesting.

* * *

The second refueling was less traumatic, but no less harrowing for Cliffton, especially as the two planes were racing ahead of a storm that was tossing bolts of lightning out away from the main body of the storm. His trepidation wasn't at all lessened when Potter admitted to him that mid-air refueling was akin to watching two porcupines mate – one wrong move, a single spark and both planes could go down in flames.

When Captain Potter finally put her fighter down on dry land, it was on the island of Guam and once he was able to climb out of the cockpit, Cliffton Granger ended up on his hands and knees, just off the runway, heaving his guts up. A gentle hand on his shoulder, when he sat back up on his heels, got him to look up and Potter was smiling somewhat sympathetically at him.

"Get it out of your system, Chief. I was serious about upchucking in my fighter. You do it, you clean it up, and you have to sit in it until we reach our final destination. NAS Pearl." She clapped him on the shoulder and started to walk toward the crew quarters, even as maintenance people swarmed the Harrier, but she turned back at the last second. "Oh! Chief Granger, don't forget – grab something to eat. It's a long leg we're about to embark on and I'm not stopping so you can fish."

He stared after her, glaring daggers into her back, but eventually Cliffton managed to climb back onto his feet and trudged over to where the Marine had gone. Behind the door off the flight line he found a small cantina, an open bunk area (nothing more than 6 cots tucked behind a flowing partition curtain wall) and – most importantly – a head complete with a shower area. Captain Potter was nowhere in sight but as he passed the women's head, he heard a shower running. Glancing over to where a small group of navy ratings sat in the cantina he spotted the highest ranking one and approached. Turned out the man he was looking at was a fellow CPO.

"You must be the CPO the Jarhead just told us about, come sit down and I'll get some chow for you, Chief." The burly looking cook got up and gestured for Cliff to sit in the very seat he'd just vacated.

"Chief … I'm not sure I could eat—"

"Nonsense! The Captain told us you're busting tail for stateside from the PG and you've had a hard time of it … trust me, you're going to need something to keep your strength up." The Mess Chief guided Cliffton into the chair and, without a word spoken, got the other two men (also cook's ratings) to vacate their seats and scamper into the kitchen area. "Just trust me, Chief, I won't steer a fellow CPO wrong, and you won't have any tummy troubles on the Agana-Barber Point leg of your flight." He turned to leave Cliffton alone, but turned back almost immediately. "Oh! It'll take about 15 minutes for my crew and I to get everything done up, why don't you grab a shower in the head over there?"

Cliffton took the Mess Chief's hint, and made his way toward the head/shower area. When he came back out, he felt more like himself, even though he'd had to climb back into the same flight suit he'd been wearing for-- He glanced at his watch and realized for the first time just how long he'd been in the air so far.

Twelve hours. Give or take 30 or so minutes and he wasn't even halfway to his destination yet. Of course, he wasn't sure where he was going just yet, other than back to the continental United States. Was he heading to Los Angeles, where his baby brother was hospitalized, maybe even dying? Or was he going to be flying into Boise for a drive up to Cascade for a family reunion or, and Cliffton tried to choke back the sadness of this thought, to bury his brother?

He shook off the gloomy thoughts and joined Captain Potter at the table he'd vacated earlier. She also looked fresher than she had been when she'd leaned over him on the flight line's apron and she was making inroads on a plate of …

"Here ya go, Chief." The Mess CPO sat a plate of food down in front of Cliffton while one of his fellow mess attendants offered him either a glass of tea or a cup of coffee. He opted for the coffee. "Chief Granger, I know you probably don't want to even think about eatin' right now, but trust me. My Ginger Chicken will fill you up and, as a bonus, the ginger will keep you from getting motion sick."

Cliffton nodded his thanks and, after taking a swig of the coffee, reluctantly picked up his fork and tasted the meal before him. The first forkful was followed by more and before he knew it, the plate was empty and Captain Potter was getting up from her seat.

"Get another helping if you want, Chief. I need to go see where the mech-dogs are with my bird and, if everything checks out, we'll be back in the air in about thirty-forty minutes."

Not wanting to press his luck, Cliffton pushed the plate away and one of the messmates came by to pick it up. The same young service member also happened to be carrying a carafe of fresh java brew and happily refilled the CPO's nearly empty mug.

* * *

The final leg of the Harrier flight was probably the smoothest of the entire journey to that time, and Cliffton wasn't sure if he was happy about that or if the lull in excitement made it easier for him to imagine all sorts of nasty scenarios for his youngest brother. Just about the time he'd thought to ask the CPO at the air field if there was a secure com, something that would allow him to make contact with a few of his CIA buddies and get the skinny on what Colby had been doing, Captain Potter came and told him her bird was ready and they needed to hop on it fast. It was only after they'd taken off and just as Potter made a course correction that Cliffton realized why the Marine fighter jock had been anxious to burn the hell out of Agana – there was a really nasty-looking storm pushing down on Guam.

Landing at Barber's Point, NAS Pearl to laymen, just over seven hours later was as gentle as any aviator or passenger for that matter could wish for. Ginger Potter was saying her goodbyes to Cliffton, and wishing him well, when two Navy personnel came up to them outside the crew quarters off the airstrip and, with very little in the way of introductions (the older one was a Senior Chief Petty Officer, the youngest a so-new-he-still-squeaked Ensign) they hustled him off to a waiting car. The trip was short, basically from one side of NAS Pearl to the other, where they showed him to one of the Transient Quarters and they left him to catch up on sleep. The SCPO, however, did warn him to be ready to get moving at the drop of a hat, they were just waiting on transport to arrive from stateside before kicking him back off the base.

He'd glanced at his watch, still set on Persian Gulf time, before laying back on the bed and closing his eyes, which is how he knew he'd only slept for five hours before the Ensign was banging on his door, waking him and rushing him back out to the airfield. Cliffton barely registered the make and model of the plane, a civilian Gulfstream VI from look of the exterior, before he was practically manhandled up the embarkation ladder and into the richly appointed passenger cabin. A member of the flight crew, he had a hard time thinking of the no nonsense woman as a flight attendant, made sure he was strapped into the luxury of a over padded leather seat before she turned, picked up a mic from a hidden panel and advised the pilot, "Package secure, let's go!"

'_Package? Since when did I become a commodity?_' He thought to himself, even as his body sank into the seat as the pilot pushed the jet into take off and the wheels left the ground with nary a bump or jostle. The female flight crew member, a petite brunette in a all-blue jumpsuit, came back to him once the plane leveled out after reaching what Cliffton assumed had to be a cruising altitude of just over 8,000 feet.

"Sorry about the bum's rush, Chief Granger. We hit a snag just out of San Fran and had to double back for something or we would've been here when you landed from Guam." She helped him undo the seat belt, a more complicated affair than he expected on a civilian plane. "When we got the word from Secretary Hamilton, we put the boogie under our tails and burned out of Andrews like the very devil himself was on our six. Is there anything I can get you from the galley? We're fully loaded for bear, name it, I probably have it in the larder."

"Andrews? You were in Washington?" He shook his head, trying to clear it and sort the information the young woman had dropped. "Question?" He asked and she nodded a 'go ahead.' "First off … your name, please? And can you please explain what you meant by 'Secretary Hamilton' – cause I don't recognize the name as part of the Department of the Navy's Chain of command."

The woman laughed, but not impolitely. "That's because she's not … she's State. I'm Sergeant Wilhite, by the way. The pilots are Colonel Stambaugh and Major Marlow. We're under orders to get you, Chief Petty Officer Cliffton Granger to either Los Angeles or San Francisco ASAP, we'll know which as soon as the Colonel can get a sit-rep."

Cliffton nodded in appreciation of the information. "Tell me, if you can, Sergeant, is there any word—"

"Chief, we know your situation. The last we heard, just before we left San Francisco - the second time, your brother was holding his own and Secretary Hamilton was trying to get in to see him." Warm brown eyes bored into his as Wilhite laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Of course, the information we had was old before we got it and it's starting to grow mold by now. Let me get up to the flight deck and see if we can get a better update for you, all right?" She stood up. "Now, you never did answer my question, is there anything I can get you from the galley?"

"Coffee?" He asked and her smile turned brilliant as she nodded, walked down the aisle and out of his line of sight for a few minutes before returning with a steaming mug of coffee and a handful of sweeteners (real and artificial) and cream in tiny tubs.

"Wasn't sure how you took your java, Chief." She carefully placed the mug down on the table next to his chair – a piece of furniture he hadn't even realized was there until that very moment – before she placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's more brewing, the galley's just past the last couch toward the front, feel free to help yourself if you need a refill before I get back from the flight deck."

"Thanks, Sergeant, but I really just have an overwhelming need to slug the coffee back and to curl up for a nap."

"I don't blame you. You've been hopping all over the globe … that's bound to wear anyone out, much less someone who isn't used to moving at the speeds pilots think of as 'slow.' Besides, those chairs are real comfortable … I'll grab a blanket for you, it gets a little chilly in the cabin, even in this beauty of a plane, at 10,000 feet."

* * *

Cliffton roused a bit from his longest 'nap' as two things happened; his stomach had decided it was hungry and he felt the jet bank to the left, making a course correction. He straightened up in the seat and peered out of the window and was a little surprised to see it was still daylight outside, but not at all startled to see nothing but water below the broken cloud deck underneath the plane. He pulled the blanket up a little closer to his chin, ready to fall back to sleep – trusting the US Air Force flight crew knew their business and would keep them safely in the air, but he spotted Sergeant Wilhite coming out of the flight deck area and smiling at him.

"I see you woke up before I could wake you, Chief." She announced as she stopped and, touching a part of the wall near the galley, caused a screen to drop down about three feet in front of Cliffton's seat. "There's someone on the secure sat-feed who wants to talk to you." Wilhite pointed out the camera cleverly hidden just above a hard-mounted photo of the Commander-in-Chief. "Just act natural, Chief. I'll patch the call through as soon as I think you've had a chance to get as presentable as you need to be for this call."

He dropped the blanket into the seat beside his and wished the Sergeant had given him a better idea how much time he had to look 'presentable,' and did his best to appear awake and ran his hand over his close cropped hair. Hopping his hair didn't look too much like he'd been sleeping just a few minutes prior and wishing he could just ignore the call and go right back to his siesta.

The screen in front of him flashed with a standard color test screen, then bright white, then he was looking at a woman with dark, curly hair styled very neatly and facial features that reminded him of the women he'd seen on and around the islands of the Mediterranean sea. And she was grousing in a way that nearly made him laugh, but he bit his tongue, as he didn't know whom she was. "Is this damn thing working – Oh! Sorry about that, Chief Granger. Technology is a wonderful thing, when it works. Don't you agree?"

"Yes ma'am." He sat up a little straighter, hoping she would introduce herself – soon – before he blundered and said what was running through his head.

"Your mother wasn't joking. You do look like your brother Colby. Who, by the way, is recovering nicely and should be released to return to Idaho to fully recuperate in a day or two."

For the first time in nearly two days of flying halfway around the world, with little or no real rest, worried to death about 'Squirt' … Cliffton felt the tension around his heart release. Which is probably why all the lessons he'd ever had about military protocol went right out the proverbial window. "Thank you for that information, ma'am, but who the hell are you?"

Her laughter matched her actions on the screen and Cliffton found he liked that sound, it was light, lilting and carried genuine mirth and – unless he was mistaken – just a tiny bit of true embarrassment. "Oh, my boss would love to hear how I totally screwed the protocol pooch on this call. Chief Granger, I'm Alexandra Hamilton, Assistant Secretary at the Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs in the State Department."

Cliffton pulled his body up as straight as he could manage and still stay in the video pick up area. "Ma'am! Wait … Sergeant Wilhite said a 'Secretary Hamilton' at State was responsible for this flight… that wouldn't have been you, would it ma'am?"

"I'm afraid so, Chief. I think it's a small price to pay to the family of the agent who just plugged a major leak at the Department of Justice and, in a way, made our jobs at State a little more … exciting, shall we say?"

"Squirt managed to do all that?"

She laughed again. "I'm not sure I needed to hear your brother's nickname, Chief … thank goodness I'm on a fight to Beijing and won't be seeing Agent Granger again any time soon."

"Sorry, ma'am … it just kinda slipped."

"Psshaw! And stop calling me 'ma'am' – I'm close to your own age, Chief. Please, call me Alex." Her smile lit up the screen.

"Fine … Alex … but only if you'll stop calling me Chief – that's my father's title, I'm just Cliff."

"Thank you, Chi… Cliff." Alexandra Hamilton was interrupted by someone just outside the range of the video pick up on her end, someone she hissed 'later' at before returning her attention back to the camera. "Sorry about that, Cliff. Any idea how long you'll be on emergency family leave?"

Cliffton shrugged. "Never thought much beyond just getting home, Alex … but I suspect I'll have ten, maybe twenty, days before I have to report back to base for reassignment."

"That's right, we hauled you out of the PG, right? Sea duty?" He nodded confirmation of her very educated guess. "Will you be heading back to the 'Lucky E' immediately upon return to duty or will you have a new assignment?"

He blinked, there weren't too many people outside the Navy and it's extended family that knew the crew designation of the USS Enterprise, other than the obvious "Big E." The "Lucky E" moniker had be hung on the carrier in WWII when Admiral Halsey had led the carrier to the most decorated status for any ship in the Navy. Period. He shook his head before answering. "I'm not real sure, ma'am, uh, Alex. Depends on what BuPers decides is the best course of action to meet the needs of the service."

"Of course, how silly of me to forget that." She made a few notations on a note pad in front of her on the desk before glancing back up. "Chief, your brother did a fine job collapsing the ring of traitors sucking at the teet of the US Government. You may hear a few things that will make you doubt your brother's loyalty—"

"Never! No grandson of Bob Larsen would ever turn coats on this country."

"That's just what your mother told me. Anyway, no matter what you hear, before you jump to conclusions, ask Colby what happened and why. He'll be given clearance to discuss things with your entire family – but I'm going to advise the DoJ that he's to be told you are cleared to hear the full story."

"Why?"

Her smile was tinged with sadness and remorse, which caused the band of tension to return to grip Cliffton's heart. "Because you have the security clearance to hear it and, to be honest, he's going to need someone he can lean on and talk to. How much do you know about what happened to your brother, Chief?"

"Next to nothing. What can you tell me, Alex?"

Before the video conference call between them ended, Cliffton wished he'd never asked that last question as he heard, in no uncertain terms, what had happened to his baby brother. And, worse, Alex Hamilton played the tape Mason Lancer had made while he methodically tortured Colby James and Cliffton watched as his baby brother died. Alex apologized, profusely, for causing him distress, which Cliffton barely managed to shake off.

"No, I needed to know. If CeeJay's going to talk to me about this … the bastard's dead, right?"

"Yes, Cliff, Lancer is dead. Shot by Carter."

"Too good for the sonuvabitch. Sorry, Alex, I shouldn't cuss like that in your presence."

"No need to apologize, Cliff. You should've heard me after I endured my first viewing of that … _crap_ piece of film. I shocked the hell out of the FBI Director and turned the air in Washington a deep blue."

"Wouldn't be anything I hadn't heard before, Alex. I am an old salt you know."

"So I understand. I hate to cut this short, Cliff, but I have a few more calls to make before I try to readjust my internal clock to match Beijing." Her brown eyes lit up with a teasing challenge. "If you're ever in Washington, stop by State and I'll take you to lunch, CPO Granger."

He smiled in a way that he hoped conveyed his delight in the invitation. "I may just do that, Alex. Good luck in Beijing and kick the Chairman in the balls for me, will ya?" His reward was to hear her laugh one more time before the video feed cut off and he was facing a blank screen.

* * *

Sergeant Wilhite came back to tell him, about ten minutes after he'd talked with Assistant Secretary Hamilton, that they'd gotten a request from the State Department, via Vandenburg Air Force Base's flight operations, to bypass Los Angeles and take him directly to …

"Chief, I hate to have to ask this but … Colonel Stambaugh needs to know … is there a decent air field near Cascade, Idaho that's rated to handle a bird like this, or should I start making phone calls to arrange for transport for you from Boise or Twin Falls? None of us are sure which is closer…"

"Boise's the closest, Sarge, but I'm pretty sure the Cascade Air Field is rated for this type of aircraft." He waved a hand around the luxury jet. "From what my folks have told me, the 'well-to-do-jet-set' crowd that has discovered the joy of skiing in Idaho's mountains have started to use our airfield when the one up McCall way is over taxed. Most of their jets aren't as nice as this one."

"Sounds like some pretty real estate. As for the planes of the Rich and Infamous … Uncle Sam gets better deals." Her smile was bright for a second before she nodded her head, mostly to whatever she'd decided mentally. "Okay, we'll need to refuel once we're feet dry anyway. I guess Major Marlow can take a few minutes to check the updated information files." She made it a point to check her watch, and then reached over Cliffton to pick up and return the blanket to him. "Might as well curl up again, Chief. We're still about 2, maybe 3, hours out from mainland."

He took the blanket, but instead of pulling it back over his rapidly ripening flight suit, Cliffton folded it up and put it back on the chair. "First things first, Sarge. Where's the head and is that a fresh pot of coffee I smell?'

"The head? Oh! The _latrine_ facilities. Back toward the tail section, last door on the left. As for the coffee, I just started it but it should be ready when you get back. I'll leave a fresh cup out for you. Black, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." He stood up and tried not to look like he was practically running to locate and use the head, but at the same time, he didn't care if he looked silly. Returning to his seat a few minutes later, Cliffton found the Sergeant was true to her word as there was a large mug of fragrant black coffee waiting for him in the cup holder on the table near his sinfully comfortable chair. As he reached out to pick up the cup he spotted a bright blue, 2 inch by 2 inch, sticky note tacked onto the handle with cramped, but clearly legible, printing on it.

_"Chief, we'll be landing to refuel at Vandenburg AFB. We should be there in about two hours, maybe less. Tail Wind! ____ Tracie W._" After reading the short note, Cliffton realized he finally knew Wilhite's first name wasn't actually 'Sergeant.'

* * *

Cliffton had gotten so turned around in his head that he, literally, had lost all sense of what time it was - let alone what time zone he was, so he was a little surprised when the State Department jet landed at Vandenburg Air Base to see it was dark outside. He looked at Sergeant Tracie Wilhite. "Uh, what time is it, Sarge? Locally, I mean?"

"Coming up 0045 hours. The Colonel said you have about 30 minutes, maybe less, to stretch your legs and do whatever else you want – but don't leave the immediate vicinity of the air strip." She was taking time to secure her dark blonde hair, it had fallen over the flight from its swept-up style, and making sure her flight cap was properly adjusted before opening the hatch and dropping the egress stairs.

"Understood. Any place I can make a long-distance phone call from? Other than the plane?"

Wilhite looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then nodded. "Come with me, I know there's a phone in the NCO lounge you can use." She cracked open the hatch, lowered the steps, then with a shout toward the cockpit, led the way to the lounge she'd spoke of. When Cliffton stepped through the door behind her, he was greeted by a dark-skinned woman about his age, wearing the blue on blue uniform of the USAF and the rank of a Senior Master Sergeant.

"Wilhite, what the hell did you State Department fly-babies forget now?"

"Nice to see you again, Sergeant Washington. We didn't forget anything; we're just loading up on fuel before taking the Chief Petty Officer here up to Idaho. Can he borrow your landline for a few?"

"Squid, huh? Oh! This is part of that stink that blew up down LA way, right?" Cliffton wondered just how the woman knew about that, until he recalled the only thing faster than military grapevines was the speed of light itself. Instead of answering her question aloud, he just nodded. "Sure, I suspect you need to make sure there's someone waiting for you when you get up north. Come around here, Chief and … is it a land line or cell you'll be calling?"

Cliffton shook his head, up until the Senior Master Sergeant had asked, he'd been planning on calling his folks home but the number had flown from his head, leaving behind only Lars' cell number. "Uh, cell phone, civilian if that matters?"

"Not really…" She lifted the handset, punched a few buttons, then handed him the phone as she vacated the desk and motioned for him to sit down. "Just dial the number direct, I think I can justify the Air Force eating the cost of a call." Then she and Wilhite moved away to give him some privacy and to talk. He dialed the number and prayed Lars would forgive him for calling this late … and that he'd read the situation correctly and Lars was at the house in Cascade and not at his place in Montana. It was only as the first ring sounded over the connection that Cliffton thought to look at a wall clock and – seeing the time was well past midnight – hoped his oldest brother was awake enough to understand.

_"Lars Granger."_ At least he sounded awake …

"Lars? It's Cliff. I'm at Vandenburg Air Force Base. I should be in Cascade by 03:00. Can you fetch me from the air field?" He looked for, and found, a pen and a blank notepad and started to scribble numbers from memory – in case Lars wasn't available, he needed to get home. He got a little worried when his brother didn't immediately respond, Lars had a bad habit of answering his phone as a teen, then falling back to sleep, without realizing he was supposed to be talking. "Lars? I don't have a lot of time here, can you get me at the airfield or should I try to make arrangements with Aunt Doris or Sergeant Huston?"

_"Of course I can! What the hell are you doing in the states?"_ Lars finally responded, causing Cliffton to chuckle dryly.

"I'll tell you when I get there. See ya soon." He hung up the phone and, looking at the first number he'd scribbled down, then the clock on the wall again, he decided that trying to call his father at that moment was not a good thing. Tomorrow – later today rather – would be soon enough to learn the latest from Lars on Squirt's condition. Cliffton stood up as the Senior Master Sergeant came back over. "Thanks for letting me spend the Air Force's dime, Sarge."

Her smile was warm and a little sad at the same time. "It's not a problem, Chief Granger. Tracie told me of your situation … When you see your brother, you thank him for me personally, will ya? Maxine Washington." She stuck a hand out in a friendly gesture and he shook the woman's hand, not at all surprised by her firm grip.

"Thanks, Sergeant Washington, but if I know my brother … he's going to hate all the attention this … incident … has generated for him and the family."

Her head tipped to one side as her chocolate brown eyes appraised him with a slight smile on her face. "Let me guess, he's one of those who'll say he was 'just doing his job' and not understand what all the fuss is about?"

"Ah, you've met him—" Cliffton responded, knowing that SMSgt. Maxine Washington probably hadn't met _Colby_, but people like him and or just plain knew the type.

"Nope. But you know what? I'm not letting him 'get away' with that 'aw shucks' attitude, you see him, you give him this—" And before Cliffton could begin to guess what she was about, the woman had planted a kiss on his cheek. "Now, if I know Colonel Stambaugh's type … he's been cracking the whip over the refuelers and is just about ready to lift tail and get out of here but before you run off with Tracie back to the bird, let's get you a little something to eat from the cantina."

Cliffton shook his head. "No thanks, Ma'am, if it's all right. I ate a bit more than I probably should've at Guam and, to be honest the way the Colonel flies …" He mimed getting airsick, which made Maxine laugh.

"Oh, I understand completely, Chief. All right, go'wan, get'cher butt outta my area and get back up to your Eye-Dee-Ho." SMSgt. Washington waved him and Wilhite out of the lounge and they made their way back to the jet sitting on the tarmac. Sgt. Wilhite noticed the engines were spinning up and hurried Cliffton back up the stairs into the bird before lifting the steps back into the plane and securing the hatch. She'd not even made it to her seat before the pilots put the jet into motion and she quickly sat down in the nearest available seat – conveniently right next to Cliffton - rather than trying to get to the jump seat she'd used previously.

"Sorry, Chief." Wilhite apologized for jostling his elbow as she rose to her feet after the plane was in the air. "Let me see if I can find out what lit a fire under the Colonel's bum."

Cliffton just nodded in response as he was trying to get his stomach to behave and stop trying to crawl out of his body … pilots were not sane people. They seemed to enjoy trying to make service members, who weren't pilots, air sick and delighted when they actually managed it. He looked up at Sergeant Wilhite as she reappeared from the cockpit area. "So, Staff Sergeant Wilhite, any clues as to why the Colonel's flying like a fighter jock all of a sudden?"

"Yeap. We've got a dry front pushing into Washington State from the Aleutians that has the higher elevation winds out ahead of it exceeding 100 miles per hour. We're trying to beat it to Cascade's air field so we can then use the tail winds it'll generate to get down to Nellis, where we'll pick up a few more State Department personnel and get them over to Taiwan."

He shook his head. "Sounds like a long day for you, the Major and the Colonel."

"Nope. We'll switch crews out completely once we hit the ground at Nellis Air Force Base."

Cliffton nodded; being a support member on a floating airfield, he'd learned over the years just how important flight crew rest was to pilots – and to maintenance people. The Orion crews, the sub-hunters, would often run 24-hour patrols with crews switching out every six hours, but the P-3's would get a full maintenance check after just 12 hours in the air. "I understand completely. If I'm guesstimating our air time correctly, we're basically going to hit cruising altitude pretty darn quick, stay there for maybe 45 minutes then start our descent?"

Tracie Wilhite smiled broadly. "I guess you really are more than just a typical seadog, Chief." She handed him the blanket he'd used earlier. "I'll wake you just before we land – remember, for us it is going to be a long touch n' go … you'll pretty much be left on the tarmac whether or not you have a ride." The Staff Sergeant actually looked apologetic.

"No problem, Sergeant. Push comes to shove … I can actually hike to the house. Cross-country it's about an hour and a half walk, if I follow the roads, it'll take me two, maybe three, hours." He didn't open the blanket, just balled it up and, with a little twisting and turning in the chair, tucked the wadded up cloth under his head, closed his eyes and, within moments, was dreaming about dragging a hale and healthy Colby up to the top of Deadwood Summit.

* * *

He was jostled awake by Sergeant Tracie Wilhite just before she returned to her seat and he dry scrubbed his face in bleary confusion, until he heard the jet's engines whining as the pilot air braked and banked to the left even as the plane lost altitude. Cliffton tried to recall what he'd been dreaming before Wilhite had awakened him, but all he could recall was that it involved Squirt, gunshot wounds and a twisting maze of white hallways.

He'd barely managed to realize they were landing before the wheels hit pavement, breaks squawked and squealed and Tracie was up from her seat and opening the egress door. Cliffton, remembering what she'd said earlier about getting out fast, undid the seatbelt, grabbed his small duffle bag from under the seat and stumbled toward the hatch.

"Good luck, Chief." Tracie offered just before he ducked out the door.

"Thanks, and please thank the pilots for me and my family, Tracie." He lurched down the narrow drop-down steps and scrambled out of the way of the jet's wings even as the Sergeant yanked the steps back up and solidly sealed the hatch with a firm thud. He'd no sooner cleared the plane's operational area, then Cliffton found himself engulfed in a bear hug of an embrace even as the pilots spun the engines back up, taxied down the runway and took off. No sooner had the jet's landing gear left the tarmac, whomever was running the tower at Cascade Air Field plunged the entire area back into darkness by turning off the lights.

"What the fuck?" Lars was saying, but all Cliffton could concentrate on at the moment was just how _cold_ it was on the tarmac with the winds coming out of the northeast – directly over Cascade Lake.

"Can we talk in the car? It's freezing out here." Cliffton pleaded with his older brother, who nodded, took the duffel bag from him and lead the way over to the side of the airfield were a black – at least he assumed it was black – Cadillac Escalade sat, its rear compartment slowly opening to the signal sent by Lars' electronic key fob. Once they were inside the passenger compartment, silence fell between them while Lars drove back to the house and Cliffton tried to absorb the heat pouring from the vents.

Clearly, Cliffton had forgotten just how chilly it could be in Cascade, even in June.

* * *

He woke up, looked around and, for a few minutes, experienced a moment of sheer panic. He couldn't recall where he was, how he'd gotten there or why he was naked. Then Cliffton took a second gander at the room and, with an explosive sigh of relief, realized he was home.

In Cascade.

Safe.

Waiting on news of, or from, Colby James. Throwing back the quilted comforter on his bed, Cliffton climbed out of the sack and stretched before looking at the US Navy themed clock someone had hung on the wall in place of his old Seattle Seahawk one. 1830 hours, or maybe 0630 … the light filtering past the blinds gave no clue as it was close to the time of year when daylight lasted longer. He turned back to the bed and found a towel wadded up in the folds of the quilt and a little more of his memories for the past few days resurfaced in his mind.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he located his gear and shaving kit and, after securing the towel back around his waist, padded on bare feet back into the shared bathroom between his and Lars' room. He had taken a shower when he'd gotten home, he had a somewhat fuzzy memory of that, but Cliffton was programmed from a young age that a shower was the best way to wake up, so that's what he was going to do.

Coming back out of the bathroom about fifteen minutes later, Cliffton felt a little more human but still completely at a loss as to what time it was. Pulling a set of sweats from his carryall duffle, he got dressed and started down stairs to see if he could figure out if he was still on Dubai time or if, by some quirk of fate, he had managed to trick his brain into Cascade time.

In the living area he found Cody sacked out on the sofa, looking almost as cute as he had as a child. Then he let loose a loud snore and Cliffton revised his opinion of his little brother. Padding into the kitchen, he discovered Lars in there, clearly in the midst of trying to fix a meal of some sort. "Lars, I know Mom taught you how to do that."

The eldest of the Granger kids turned away from the stove, greasy tongs in hand and Lars smiled at him – just before handing the utensil over to him. "Cliff, good, you watch the chicken while I get the veggies seasoned and tossed in the microwave." Which is how Cliffton found himself, once again, in charge of making sure the pan-fried chicken didn't scorch in his mother's kitchen – even if Catherine Granger wasn't there.

Once the meal was complete, sans overcooked chicken, and with the addition of Cody's mashed potatoes to the mixed veggies Lars had cooked up Cliffton finally got a chance to ask a question that had started plaguing him halfway through the meal. "Was it just my imagination or did Auntie Doris come into my room at some point and tuck me in?"

Cody started to chuckle, and then gave up and just full out laughed, which Lars joined in. Once both were under some semblance of control, Cody answered. "Yeah, she stopped by and when Lars here told her you'd made it home, she scooted up stairs so fast neither of us could stop her. Good thing you were mostly covered … but she still woke the nearly dead with her gasp-not-quite-a-scream when she realized you'd fallen asleep in the all together."

Cliffton's jaw dropped. "I thought I dreamed that –"

Lars was quick to reassure him. "Nope. According to Dee, you woke up, had a small conversation with her, then dropped back off to sleep in mid-word. Which is the only reason Cody and I didn't wake you before noon." He shook his head. "You scared Dee half to death, bro, dropping off like that."

He felt the blood rushing to his face as he blushed. "I did not—"

"You did. Between "Guam" and whatever word you were going to say next. She stepped into the bathroom to fill a carafe of water for your bedside stand and looked back at you only to find you had your head down on your chest, lightly snoring."

"I did?" He asked, trying hard to ignore Cody who wasn't trying to hide his snickers.

Lars nodded, then handed his cell phone over to Cliff. "Check the old messages, she sent me an Emm-Peg of the event. _After_ you'd started snoring."

Cliffton did as instructed and turned a deeper shade of red as he watched the short clip, and listened to the sound – a saw mill made less noise – before closing the cell and complaining. "Man....my body's clock is so screwed up, it'll never get right again."

"You will. Probably just in time to have to rescramble it back to Dubai time."

"Gee, thanks." Cliffton handed Lars his cell phone back. "How's Squirt doing?"

"Doing better. Lots better from the sound of things." Lars admitted as he gathered up the empty plates from the table.

"Yeah, enough so that he got whapped by Agent Reeves for being a smartass." Cody supplied, a huge grin on his face.

"You two talked to Squirt and didn't wake me?" Cliffton grumbled at his brothers.

"No, Doris said you needed your rest and, frankly, Cliff, after seeing you late last night, I had to agree with her." Lars explained.

"You guys cudda woke me—"

"And suffer the Wrath of Aunt Dee? No thanks!" Cody admitted.

Cliffton had to agree with Cody … Doris Speeck had one hell of a temper. "Right, understood. So Squirt's doing all right?"

"Doing real good." Lars looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Cliff ... do you really not recall what I told you last night?"

"Um.... Kinda. You said he was going to be moved to a regular room. But now you're telling me you just talked to him. So what did he say?"

"A lot. And very little."

"Lars, I didn't just get my ass dragged half way around the world to hear double talk..." Cliffton glared at his older brother.

"I don't mean to be cryptic, Cliff ... the truth is while he talked a lot, there wasn't a whole lot of substance. He broke the news to Cody about his having CPR done on him--" Lars looked at him and Cliff schooled his face to show concern, but not shock. After all, he'd seen the raw footage and really wished Alex Hamilton hadn't shown him. "--got thwaped for being a smartass by Agent Reeves, one of his team mates, and then pretty much promised to do his old chores when he got home."

Cliff grinned. "He's gonna be fine. If he's being a smartass, he'll be fine." He let out a huge breath.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the consensus around here too." Cody chimed in.

Before he could ask Lars any more questions, Cliffton heard a vehicle crunching across the gravel in the driveway and Lars turned around to peek out the window above the sink before shaking his head and looking back at Cliffton. "Bro, you're timing is still atrocious. Doris is back and she's brought reinforcements."

Cliff peered over his brother's shoulder and saw Aunt Dee climbing from her car with four or five other people joining her. "What's Auntie Dee up to?"

Lars' grin turned wicked as he answered. "Cleaning Crew and Party Planning." He stepped out of the kitchen and hollered a greeting to Auntie Doris, and the other 'honorary aunts' before yelling for Cody - who stomped back out of the living area, already wearing coveralls.

Cliff groaned but followed his brothers out onto the porch.

* * *

He'd managed to assist the cleaning crew with a few things, like holding the ladder as Cody went after the spider webs in the upper rafters of the barn, before being chivvied back into the house and ordered to do what had to be done there. He didn't argue with Doris. No one but Catherine Granger ever argued with Aunt Doris, the woman was too tough, too hardheaded and too scary to piss off.

That meant he was in charge of dusting, fifty-two pick up and general over all cleaning.

Well, the supervision of such chores anyway. Two of the cleaning crew, Aunt Crystal and another who's name escaped him, had already done the lion's share of the chores, but had no shame or apologies when they handed him cleaning materials and sent him upstairs.

For him they'd left the dreaded bathrooms. Oh well, at least they hadn't handed him a toothbrush and told him to scrub the decks. And, on the plus side, he'd heard Doris explain to them that, should he just stay upstairs, they weren't to disturb him as he was still recovering from Jet Lag.

It didn't matter how tired he got, or how much he just wanted to climb into the bed in his old room and just collapse. He had to get this place ship-shape so that his folks wouldn't have to worry about anything except getting Colby James home. That's all that was important right now, Squirt was coming home and he was going to be all right.

~*~ **END** ~*~

~*~ Book Two ~*~

_Book Three To Follow_


	4. Book Three Cody William Granger

**Tales of the Granger Brothers  
_Book Three: Cody William_**

By The Twisted Evilettes, AmyD and Suisan

* * *

"Hey, Granger ... did they get the right one?" Bill Faulkenbury snarled as Cody walked past the archival department on his way to Cryptography.

"What?" Cody Granger turned back to see Bill smirking and leaning on the doorframe of the portal that lead into the archives.

"You heard me, it's all over the news. Special Agent _Colby_ Granger based at the L.A. Field Office was arrested this afternoon charged with being a spy for the Commies." An evil smile lurked on Bill's face.

Cody felt his heart drop into his feet like a frozen chunk of glacial ice. "That's a bald-faced lie, Faulkenbury, take it back."

"Why? It's true. I always figured there was something screwy about your family, now I know. Probably gonna come and talk to you next. Tell me, how much do they pay you to sell out your country?" Bill's face twisted into something truly ugly.

The chill in Cody's soul rapidly changed over to pure fiery fury and he clenched his hands into rock hard fists at his side as he reigned in his temper. "Shut your gawddamn pie-hole, Fuckingberry. Before you prove to yourself, and others, just how fucking stupid you really are." Bill might not be aware of the audience they were gathering, but Cody was and he vowed not to do anything too stupid, unless pushed.

"I'm not the one with the traitor in the family, am I?" Bill took a step closer to Cody and added, "Fucking traitor."

The move wasn't planned, wasn't even telegraphed and Bill never saw it coming. It was vicious, a rough upper cut to the jaw of the sneering agent that started somewhere around Cody's right thigh before it connected with a hard snapping crunch and sent Faulkenbury flying into the wall. "Shut your damn mouth!" He was standing over the fallen agent, hands clenched in rage. "No Granger would EVER betray this country. NEVER!"

Bill climbed to his feet, snarling at Cody "Your brother's a fucking traitor and so are you." He swung at Cody, catching him on the cheekbone.

Cody didn't stop to think, he just reacted as he'd been trained. He snapped out with a hard kick to the other man's thigh, connecting with the common peronnial nerve cluster, which dropped Bill to the floor once more. He was closing in for the 'kill' when a bear grabbed him from behind and physically stopped him with a crushing hug.

"Granger! Stop! He's not worth your career!"

Bill, lying on the floor wheezing in pain, managed to say, "I'm pressing charges."

"Miller! Let me go! He wants to press charges, I'll fucking GIVE him a reason to REMEMBER this beating!" Cody tried to wriggle free of Agent Doug Miller's clasp and came within a hair's breadth of using his skull to break the Art Crime Agent's nose before he started to feel faint from lack of air. Miller was actually crushing him into submission.

"No, damn it, Cody. Calm down!" Miller's voice cut through the fog in Cody's mind. "You two, get him out of here and over to medical." Cody wasn't sure whom Miller was talking to, but he was aware, however slightly, that Faulkenbury was being assisted back to his feet.

"Damn you, Bill . . . I hope you rot in hell." Cody managed to whisper at the departing Archivist.

"Kiss your career good-bye, Granger." Bill shot back at Cody.

"Faulkenbury, go, before I release him." Miller snapped at the other man. "George, Nick, take the long route, got it?"

George Staunton, another agent in the Art Crime Department nodded. With George on one side and Nick DelaCosta, from the Archival department they made a slightly odd parade down the hall.

Cody started to regain his breath and the spots stopped dancing before his eyes as Miller set him back down on his feet and slightly loosened his bear hug on him. "Doug. Let. Me. Go."

"Not unless you calm all the way down." Doug told him. He had never seen Granger as mad as this before.

"Not going to happen ... what the HELL was he prattling on about?" Cody had worked in the department until 4 in the morning, and it wasn't even 2 PM and he was back. He hadn't even had a chance to listen to news as he'd gotten ready for work - the yahoos at the street department had 'accidentally cut' a power line and that had been that.

Doug eyed Cody. "Then you really haven't seen the news?"

"No. Street department fuck ups killed the power on my block around noon." He felt Miller's grasp loosen a little further and took advantage of it and twisted out of the larger agent's hold to face the Art Crimes specialist. "Was what he said true?"

Doug scowled. "Come here." He turned and walked down the hallway to the Art Crimes Department, letting Cody go before him, he ushered him into the section, then pointed the other man at a TV set anchored high up on the wall. Across the bottom of the screen ran "Special Agent Colby Granger charged and arrested for spying for the Chinese." A picture of Colby flashed on the screen before a shot of the LA Federal Building replaced it.

Cody would've fallen if Miller hadn't shoved a chair under him as his knees gave way. "NO ... oh lord no. CeeJay ... what are you doing?"

"I don't know your brother at all but I do know you. There's more to this then we're being told." Doug squatted down next to Cody.

Cody looked back at Doug and tried to ignore the presence of Supervisory Special Agent Abigail Stroud who was standing in the doorway of her office. "Doug ... he if did, I know he didn't but if ... IA and Counter Intel will be after me next. I talked Colby into joining the Bureau."

Doug nodded.

"So, that was you wiping the floor with Faulkenbury?" Stroud asked and Cody only responded with a miserable nod. "I wondered. About time someone brought him down a peg or two."

Cody didn't smile, just nodded his head once more. "Sorry, Abby. I didn't mean to disrupt everyone's day." He moved to get up, only to realize his legs weren't ready to go anywhere. "I really should get someone in Crypto to cover my shift … I've got the feeling Internal Affairs is going to be looking for me."

"I can take care of that." Abby told him.

"Agent Granger?" A voice came from the hallway.

"Over here." Cody raised a bloodied hand, then rose to his feet and turned to face both Abby and the IA Agent. "Abby, thanks. Just let the crew do their job and sign off on the communiqués." Cody then turned his attention to the other Agent standing before him. "Agent ... Longhurst, right? I know why you're here." He moved, slowly and very carefully, and removed his sidearm, badge and ID and handed it over to the IA man.

"Thank you, Agent Granger." Longhurst replied as he secured the weapon before placing it in a pocket. "Do I need to do this formally or will you behave?"

"I'll behave ... unless I see Fuckingberry, then all bets are off. I also feel obligated to warn you that I don't respond like most people to tazers." Cody kept his hands in plain sight as he walked ahead of Agent Longhurst, out of Art Crimes and up two floors to Criminal Processing, where he was left to 'simmer' in an interrogation room.

* * *

Cody had paced, he'd sat silently, he'd even answered a few questions for Agent Longhurst and had been rewarded with the knowledge that he'd given Bill Faulkenbury one _hell_ of a headache. He'd also had his hand seen by a DC paramedic, under the very watchful eyes of Mark Longhurst, and now sported a blindingly white wrap on his hand, which the paramedic had decided was sprained and lacerated but not broken. He'd asked about news on Colby, but even mentioning his brother's name had earned him hate-filled glares from the Agents in the Criminal Processing unit and he stopped further inquiries.

He heard the lock on the interrogation room's door snap open and, expecting to see an agent or two from Counter Intelligence, faltered to his feet when Director Joseph Atwater walked into the room. Alone.

"Sit down, Agent Granger." Director Atwater said, closing the door behind him.

Cody didn't immediately follow the man's orders, too surprised to see The FBI Director in the same room as the brother of a reported traitor.

"Agent Granger, sit down." Director Atwater repeated himself.

"Yes, sir." He fell back into the chair and tried to present himself as well as he could.

Director Atwater sat down across the table from him and folded his hands together. "Agent Faulkenbury has decided not to press charges."

"Sir? Why not?" Cody was confused and not thinking too clearly or he never would've blurted out, "Guess I didn't beat any sense into him after all."

A glimmer of a smile ghosted across the director's face. "Because he was convinced that doing so would not be in his best interests. That said, the two of you will be leaving and not coming back until, at least, tomorrow. Maybe longer. There will be letters of reprimand in your files and if the two of you ever decide to fight again, it will be your last day with this Bureau or any other law enforcement agency. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir." Cody bit his lip and wondered if he dare ask the Boss the one question that had been nagging at his heart and mind since Faulkenbury had taunted him into a fight. "Sir? Is it true? About my brother?"

"There are things that I am not at liberty to discuss but things are not always what they seem, Agent Granger."

"But he _HAS_ been arrested?" Director Atwater nodded. "Damn ... This is going to kill Mom and Dad."

"They probably already know. I would suggest that when you get home, you call them." Director Atwater told Cody, watching the younger man, as if trying to gauge his reaction.

"Yes, sir. I plan on that." He looked as his hands, clenched together on the tabletop before he looked back up at Director Atwater's very observant eyes. "Sir ... I know it won't mean much, coming from me, but I don't believe Colby would turn on his country. No, scratch that. I _**know**_ he wouldn't. Its just not in him."

Director Atwater did not reply. He stood, opened the door and called out, "Agent Longhurst?"

Mark Longhurst stuck his head into the room. "Yes, sir?"

"Please bring Agent Granger his badge, ID and weapon."

Longhurst looked startled for a half second, then nodded and disappeared. When he came back, he handed the items over to Cody, who felt a little better once he got them back and in their 'proper' places. "Thanks, Longhurst."

"You are free to go, Agent Granger, but remember what I said." Director Atwater told him.

Cody nodded. "Yes, sir, I shall." He waited until the Director had left before leaving the interrogation room. Longhurst walked beside him to the elevators, which Cody questioned, until he spotted the glares aimed his way from other FBI Agents and FBI support personnel. He let out a sigh of frustration. "Guess 'Granger' is the new 'Mudd'."

Longhurst shrugged. "If you know the truth, what does it matter what other people think?" He pushed the 'down' call button for the elevator.

"Yeah, I know ... but in the meantime, until people realize I'm not Colby ... I get the glares and the knee-jerk reaction to my name." Cody stepped into the elevator, turned around and held a hand out to Longhurst. "Mark ... thanks for not assuming the worst."

Longhurst smiled and took Cody's hand. "You're welcome." He took a step closer spoke in a conspiratorial tone and pitch. "Thanks for knocking that asshole Faulkenbury to the ground. I've been dying to do that for months." He stepped back and let the elevator's doors close before Cody could respond.

* * *

When he arrived back at his home in Georgetown, Cody wasn't surprised to find he'd beaten his roommate there, especially since he was home a good four hours ahead of schedule. Striping out of his suit jacket, he tossed the garment over the back of the recliner and picked up the paisley covered address book he'd used for years to store important numbers and addresses. He'd been trying his parents' home phone for a couple of hours, since Longhurst and his fellow agents hadn't seen fit to take his cell phone from him, but he'd never got an answer and his cell had died a battery death a long while back.

He flopped onto the couch near the landline that Jackie had insisted they get in addition to their cell phones, picked up the handset and dialed the number to the house in Cascade, Idaho from memory. The line rang five, six times before Cody realized no one was going to answer and he disconnected the call. Flipping over to the 'G' section of his address book, he looked up his mother's cell phone number and dialed it.

_"The number you are calling is not in service—"_

Frustrated beyond his ability to think rationally, Cody disconnected the call and let out a primal growl even as his feet beat a hasty tattoo on the wooden floor in front of the couch. "One more number to try before calling Lars…" He looked up the final string of digits and punched in the number.

_"Hello, Code. Wondered when we would get a call from you."_

"Dad, how're you and Mom holding up?" He wasn't about to ask his father if what had happened in Los Angeles was true, he knew it was, he also knew there was more behind his baby brother's arrest than anyone in the know was going to let on.

_"Not too well. Your mother found out about CeeJay's arrest before I could get home and, well, after everything was said and done—"_ Gareth stopped speaking for a second, then resumed in a quieter tone. _"I can't blame her for exiling me."_

"Exiling? Dad, what the hell is going on?" Cody had witnessed a couple of arguments between his folks while growing up, but those had never escalated to a point where one of them felt the need to leave the house for any length of time.

There was a long sigh of suffering discouragement before his father answered. _"Might as well tell you now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak. Cody, I knew something like this might happen nearly a month ago. Colby came into my office, in disguise no less, to give me a head's up and then, the little shit, had me swear I wouldn't tell anyone. Not even your mother."_

"So he was, **is** undercover?" It wasn't 'official' until the FBI broke the news, but hearing it from his father was – in Cody's opinion – as good as gospel.

_"I suspect so, yes. But, Code . . . I don't think his getting arrested was part of the plan."_

Letting out a sigh of his own and nodding his head in agreement, even though his father couldn't see it, Cody felt a little better about Colby's perceived situation. "I dunno, Dad. I've not seen it personally, you understand, but I do know a few agents who worked undercover who also ended up in the hoosegow in the line of duty."

_"Yeah, I know a few street cops who've done the same thing."_

"Now what's this dog-doo about you being exiled?"

_"Your mother's a little upset and, instead of letting her temper override her restraint, she banished me to the old school shed for not telling her what little I knew about Colby's predicament."_

"That's a bit harsh, Dad."

_"No, that was your mother's right. I have pretty much been lying to her for a month and she's pissed. It's not all that uncomfortable out here, not since we turned it into a little 'guest cottage slash writer's shack' a few years ago."_

"You've done a lot of reorganization out there at the ol' homestead." Cody wistfully admitted as he realized just how long it had been since he'd last returned home just for a visit.

_"I detect a whiff of homesickness."_ His father stated. _"Maybe you should see what you can do to arrange a little trip back west, Code."_ He must have made a noise of disagreement or dismay for Gareth immediately clarified his invitation. _"Oh, I'm not saying you need to drop everything right now and head out, but maybe after everything blows over? It'd do your mother a world of good to have her children around. Maybe later this summer, when the weather has decided winter's really over?"_

Cody smiled. "I'd like that, Dad. Maybe a little white water kayaking down the Payette River is just what I need."

_"Just call the week before you head out, so we can get your room ready and aired out."_

"I'll do that, Dad." He looked at his watch and realized Jackie would be home soon and it might be a good idea for him to have dinner started, if not ready. "Dad, give my love to Mom, once she starts talking with you again, and I'll call you both later this week or early next."

_"Will do, Cody. Thanks for touching base. Fare thee well."_

"Fare thee well, Dad." Cody returned his father's rather archaic 'goodbye,' a hold over from their days as a family inside the Society for Creative Anachronism, and hung up the phone. He was still sitting there on the couch when his room mate came home and the flurry of usual after work activity ensued as the two of them worked to get dinner put together and he answered as many of Jackie's questions about Colby's arrest as he could.

* * *

**_Five Weeks Later…_**

_*ring*_

"Gads, don't answer it."

"I have to, I'm on call."

_*ring*_

"Damn it, just as things were—"

"Getting nice and frisky?"

_*ring*_

"Yeah . . . are you sure you can't just ignore it?"

"I could—" _*ring*_ "—but then they'd just hit my cell."

"Fine. I'll get it and tell them you're indisposed." He rolled over, reluctantly, and answered the bedside phone. "Hello?"

_"Cody? Oh good, you're home."_

"Auntie Dee?" He sat up, there was no 'good' reason for his by-proxy aunt to be calling him and Cody was instantly on alert. "What's wrong?"

_"It's not Gigi or Cat and I don't have all the information I probably should have before calling you but . . . Cody, your folks are being flown to LA by the FBI. Something about Colby being in Critical Condition."_

"What!?" He reached out and grabbed onto one of Jackie's hands, needing an anchor to keep his balance. "How can that be possible? Colby's under arrest and in a holding facility."

_"I'm telling you everything I was able to tell Lars. I was kinda hoping you'd be able to dig up more information and funnel it back out to the family?"_

"Doris, I can't—" He looked down at Jackie, saw the concern in her beautiful face and realized there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his loved ones. "Squirt's really in trouble?"

_"So I gather, yes."_

"I'll see what I can do."

_"Thank you, Cody. You have my cell number? I'm going to be leaving the station soon."_

"Yeah, I got it. As soon as I find out something, I'll contact you or Lars."

_"Good thinking. I'll contact you the minute I hear from Gigi or Cat, you'll return the favor, I hope?"_

"You bet. Thanks for calling me, Aunt Doris." He replaced the handset on the phone's cradle even as Jackie sat up on the bed behind him and slowly wrapper her lithe and limber body around his.

"What's wrong, Babe?"

Cody didn't answer immediately, but reached over and grabbed the remote for the small television and turned it on and switched it over to the Fox News Network. "Something happened in LA, Colby's in a hospital in critical condition." He responded quietly before turning the volume up on the set. "This doesn't make sense, the last time I checked, Colby was still housed in a maximum security facility but now Doris Speeck is telling me he's ill or hurt."

Jackie came around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, pulling her silk robe on and handed Cody his chenille one. "Maybe there was an incident and—" She stopped as she noticed the scrolling information bar at the bottom of the screen was mentioning something about Los Angeles.

Due to their respective jobs, both Cody Granger and Jaqueline Bolin had a unbreakable house rule – on days off there was to be no television, radio or anything else that could ruin the two agents' days. Their rare mutual days of down time were to be spent exclusively with each other, undivided attention given to the other and that meant no 'late-breaking' or 'this just in' news broadcasts in their Georgetown town home. If the news was something that could affect their day-off status, both were sure the FBI and US Secret Service would be the first ones to call, page or otherwise get in contact with them. Thus, they had totally missed the news out of Los Angeles earlier in the day about the 'fiery escape of two wanted felons from a military holding facility.' Now the news out of LA was about a 'massive off-shore operation by multiple agencies' with most of those agencies supposedly being involved in an intensive manhunt for the two escaped felons from earlier in the day.

Just as Cody was about to flip stations, in search of more coherent information, Fox News flashed two booking photos up on the screen, side by side. One Cody knew all too well, it was Colby's face staring at him from the television; the other . . . "So that's what Dwayne Carter looks like." He mused.

"You never met your brother's Army buddy?" Jackie asked.

"No. I just took Mom at her word, that he was bad news from the word 'go' – but he was also very supportive of CeeJay while they were both being treated at Brooks-Army Medical." He turned off the television as the news switched to something different. "If Mom and Dad are being flown to LA on the FBI's dime. . . "

"Then your brother must have been caught and possibly wounded." Jackie got up from the bed and walked over to the small desk where she had her secure laptop. "Unless you were right over a month ago, Cody." She sat down and booted up the portable computer.

"I'd stake my career on it, Jackie." He got up and stood behind her as she opened a secure web portal. "What are you up to, Agent Bolin?"

"It's simple enough, I'm getting you inside a information data miner site my agency uses. What you do once I leave the room—" She stopped when he reached over, grabbed the mouse and closed the portal she'd just opened. "What are you doing?"

"Jaqueline Samantha, I love you, you know that. But I cannot allow you to put your career in jeopardy over this, even though I thank you for being so willing to do so." He kissed the nape of her neck before leaving the bedroom and heading downstairs to access his own laptop and a few web portals of his own.

* * *

Cody was sitting with George Staunton in the cafeteria of the Hoover building later that evening, actually kind of surprised the Art Crimes 'rookie' was on duty, talking about nothing in particular as he waited for the agents at the tables closest to them to clear out.

"I really didn't expect to see you tonight, Granger. You get called in or something?"

"You could say that, George." He took a sip of the coffee in his personal mug. "Actually, I couldn't sleep and thought I'd do a drop in inspection on my swing shift crew."

"Man, I'm glad Abby doesn't pull that kind of shit too often."

"Maybe I should talk to her?"

"No! I mean, she drops in once in a while on the evening shift, but . . . just don't encourage her, okay?"

Cody let out a mild chuckle as the two agents at the nearby table finally left. "I won't say a thing to her, Scout's Honor." He waited until the other agents were out of easy earshot range before addressing Staunton again. "Hey, George, I need a favor."

"Sure, name it."

"Don't agree until I tell you what it is, George."

The agent looked startled and more than a little fearful. "Aww, man . . . Doug told me this might happen."

"What?"

"You're testing my ability to tell a fellow agent to go jump in a lake or to turn that agent in if said agent asks me to do something I know I shouldn't do."

Cody sat back, stunned. "And Miller told you this . . . when, Staunton?"

"Earlier today. I wasn't sure why, until now."

"Crap." If Doug Miller had put that sort of bug in George Staunton's young brain, there was no way he'd be able to utilize the Massachusetts Institute of Technology graduate's computer skills to ferret out the information he needed on his own brother. "Well, Doug was right, you passed the test, George."

Staunton visibly relaxed as he took a larger than average gulp of his soda. "Oh, good. I was getting more than a little paranoid about Doug's advice."

"Don't be. You're a good agent, George. And, from what Abby's been telling me, a damn good computer ferret."

"Yeah, well . . . have to make that MIT schooling pay off somehow, even if I didn't get an actual degree in computer sciences."

"Ever do any data mining programs from scratch?"

"Sure, all the time. How do you think Art Crime finds a lot of our targeted stolen art work?"

"Really?" Cody was playing the younger agent like a bass guitar, and not at all ashamed of it.

"Oh sure. Don't you all in Crypto do something similar?"

"Sorta, but mostly we just use the same old equations and logarithms and just plug in the new information. I doubt anyone in my division could actually build a data miner from scratch."

George shook his head in amusement. "Really? It's dead easy . . I could show you how to do it. Would take about five, maybe ten minutes."

"Could you show me now?"

"Yeah, here or your office?"

"My office." Cody led the way out of the cafeteria and down to his office in Cryptography and Secure Communications in the basement, not too far from the Art Crime Division where George worked. True to the younger agent's word, he had a working data miner up and running on his personal computer and looking for a few key names in the area hospitals around the Greater Los Angeles area in under twenty minutes.

* * *

The first name he'd run through the program had been his brother's. When that came up empty, he tried a few anagrams of his brother's name, both with and without the middle one tossed in for grins and giggles. When that kicked back absolutely nothing, Cody sat back and started to think of his family tree. Both sides. The Granger and Larsen sides and plugged in every male first name and last name he could recall, going back four generations.

He was more than a little surprised when the data miner kicked out no less than three possibilities: Jonas Larsen, Zack Doolittle and Grant Jagger. Jonas Larsen was listed as a patient at City of Angels Clinic, on an outpatient basis who was in for a cardio stress test. He was also in his late seventies. Not Colby.

Zack Doolittle was listed at Cedars-Sinai Hospital, was roughly the right age and was in an Intensive Care Unit. He called and asked for the man's room but when the patient answered, Cody hung up. Definitely not Colby's voice, unless there was an agent fielding the phone calls who sounded like an emphysema patient.

The last possibility, Grant Jagger, was also listed as a ICU patient, but he was at University of California, Los Angeles' Medical Center and no where in the data Cody was able to rip from the hospital's not-as-secure-as-they-wanted-to-believe servers was his diagnoses listed. Using a second computer, one he rarely used, he pulled up the hospital's main web page and saw that he could connect directly to the patient rooms by dialing a certain extension.

He made the call from his desk and was more than a little surprised when he connected – with someone claiming to be a nurse. _"ICU, Nurse Daniels."_

"Uh, Ms. Daniels, I was trying to call Grant Jagger?"

_"One moment, sir."_ Before he could protest, he was placed on hold. Less than 30 seconds passed and the line was picked up again. By someone who wasn't Nurse Daniels.

_"Sir, I'm sorry, but Mister Jagger isn't taking any calls. Unless they're cleared. Your name please, so I can check it against the log?"_ Cody was startled and gave the kindly toned male voice his name before he could even think of using an alias. _"Thank you, sir. One moment please."_

This time he was on hold for longer than a minute and he could have sworn that he'd heard noise on the line that sounded like his call was being switched through a number of stations. Or the lines at UCLA Medical Center were recorded on the sly. Either way, he was close to hanging up when the hold noise – not Muzak, just noise – stopped and yet another voice came over the line.

_"Agent Granger, please come up to Director Atwater's office. __**Immediately**__."_ A dial tone issued forth from the handset in his hand and Cody knew his call to California had been terminated from within the Hoover Building.

* * *

Feeling very much like he used to when he'd have to explain to his father why he didn't complete one of his chores around the house, Cody Granger approached the office of the FBI Director with some trepidation. It was close to midnight and the man's secretary was still there, behind her desk and looking none too happy. She looked up, saw who had dared to enter her domain, frowned and pointed, rather harshly, at the door leading to the Director's inner sanctum. "He was expecting you over five minutes ago. Get in there."

He nodded curtly as he walked past the secretary's desk, placed his hand on the doorknob and, with a twist of the wrist, pushed the door open to reveal that the Director wasn't alone. "Ah, Agent Granger, come on in. Alex, have a safe flight."

The dark-haired woman wasn't much older than Cody, but the way Director Atwater was treating her, she had to be one of Washington's power movers and shakers. "I suspect the Air Force will get me where I'm going in one piece, Joe." She smiled at Cody as she walked past him on her way out, "Agent Granger." He couldn't help but notice that the smile was tinged with regret and there was a sadness in her eyes before she left.

He turned back to face the Director. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Joseph Atwater's face had gone from a friendly expression while talking to the lady, to one of hard-won neutrality. "Yes, I did. Come in and close the door, Agent Granger." Cody did as he was ordered even as Atwater got on the intercom to his secretary. "Kendra, you can go ahead and head home. Thank you for staying and, please, feel free to take an extra day off next week."

_"Thank you, Sir. Have a good weekend."_

Atwater merely nodded as he shut down the line of communication and looked back up at Cody. "Agent Granger, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Sir?" He was more than a little puzzled by the Director's rather abrupt question.

"Calling around to hospitals in the LA area, asking for people who don't actually exist. Names that were, until now, perfect cover names for your brother?"

Cody stood there before the Director, stunned as the man's words washed over him, leaving behind a loud ringing in his ears. "'Cover names' – then he _was_ working under cover?"

Atwater nodded. "He was." He came over to stand beside Cody and, with a guiding hand, moved him over to sit in a chair before the massive cherry wood desk. "As of a little over two hours ago, Colby is no longer undercover and, in fact, has been pulled from his assignment."

Cody barely heard the words, but he did. "Doris said, Mom and Dad, LA, FBI flight—"

"Yes, that's correct. We're flying your parents to LA to be with your brother . . . Cody, are you tracking this, son?" Atwater asked.

Cody finally shook his head, clearing it of the ringing noise and stared at his ultimate boss. "Colby got hurt, didn't he?"

Atwater nodded. "Yes, he did. I spoke with the doctors in charge of his treatment and they're guardedly optimistic about your brother's recovery."

"What happened, if you can tell me, sir?"

Cody William Granger came to regret that question as the Director quietly spoke of Colby's assignment, his involvement in the case from before he even left the FBI Academy at Quantico and how his friendship with Dwayne Carter had played into Agent Kirkland choosing Colby for the assignment it the first place. After about an hour of listening, having a few questions answered and basically being told he could not even speak of this with Agent Jaqueline Bolin – he never asked how Atwater even knew about Jackie, just accepted the man _knew_ – Cody was sent home and told to be back in the Director's office no later than one o'clock the following afternoon.

* * *

The only thing that kept Cody from outright disobeying Director Atwater's directive not to speak of the situation involving Colby with Jaqueline was the fact that when he got home to their place, there was a note from her stating that she'd been called in to cover an agent's position on the advance team for the Vice President's touring Detail. By this time, it was approaching half-past two in the morning, Cody was just paranoid enough to wonder how in the hell Atwater had managed to get his buddies at the US Secret Service to get Jackie out of town on such short notice.

He had just set up his laptop on the desk in the living area, checked his emails and was just about to pick up the phone to call UCLA Medical Center – against the strict orders of the Director – when his cell phone practically vibrated off the desktop. Feeling more than a little paranoid he slipped the device out of its holster and, checking the caller I.D., felt a more than stupid. "Just because you were about to do something you know you shouldn't—" He muttered under his breath before answering the call.

"Hi, Mom . . . how's Squirt?"

_"Someone told you, or you found out on your own."_ Catherine Granger was one of those people who were always – as Doris Speeck would put it – direct with a capital D. I. R. E. C. T.

"A little of both, actually. How is CeeJay?"

_"The doctors assure me and your father that he will make a full recovery. Eventually."_ There was a hitch in her voice and he could hear what he thought was his father's voice in the background, but there were two of them. _"I'm all right, I'm all right. You two are worse than old hovering aunts!"_ Now Cody was confused. Who, other than his father, could his mom be talking to? _"Sorry, Cody. Your father and Mister Eppes are being a little too, protective of me at the moment."_

"Mister Eppes? Would that be Eppes Senior, Agent or Doctor?" Cody hadn't met the Eppes family, but he'd heard a lot about the trio, both from Colby and from his father after the incident in which his little brother had damn near died due to a crazy old bat with an arsenic fetish.

_"Alan. We're heading to his house after Colby and Colby's doctor practically kicked me out of his room."_

"He's awake? Mom! What the hell happened to him, when can I talk with him?"

_"Oh, hush! I know, Gareth. Cody . . . your father is reminding me that most of our information is still quite sketchy and that you will probably get more out of your computers or bosses sometime tomorrow. Or, rather, today since its after midnight there in DC."_

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be back in to see the Director later."

_"Cody, what did you do?"_

"Did a little too much, and too good, digging once I knew Colby had been hospitalized."

_"And you have to see the Director over that? Cody, are you still an FBI Agent?"_

"For now. I'll know something more later."

_"Cody… No, it was your decision, your choice. I won't lecture you about this."_

"Thanks, Mom. I should probably let you go and try to get some sleep. Give Squirt a noogie from me, will ya?"

_"Will do, sleep well, love ya."_

She disconnected before Cody could hang up and he sat there, staring at the screen of his laptop and the informational web page for UCLA's hospital, debating the wisdom of trying to call and get through to Colby's room. In the long run, he closed down the laptop, climbed up the stairs and fell to sleep in his lonely bed. Missing Jackie's presence more than he ever did before when she'd go out of town on assignments with the Veep Detail.

* * *

Had the phone rang a moment later, Cody would have never heard it. As it was, he was halfway out the door, on his way back to the Federal Building and his appointment with Director Atwater. He knew that if he didn't leave right then, he would be late. Without hesitation, he turned and crossed the distance between the door and the phone in three strides, snatching up the receiver just before the call rolled over to voice mail.

"Hello?"

_"Cody?"_ His mother's voice greeted him. _"I wasn't sure if I'd find you at home still."_

Unbidden, Cody's stomach clenched with a fear that made his mouth go dry. "What's wrong?"

_"Nothing, nothing at all. Someone wants to talk to you."_

Mystified, Cody listened to the muffled noises coming from the receiver. It sounded, almost, like a second conversation was going on. He stole a glance at his watch. He was definitely going to be late now. Not that it really mattered. He was going to be fired, he just knew it.

_"Code?"_ The voice was thick with sleep and drugs and slurred on the last syllable of his name but was completely recognizable to his big brother.

"CeeJay?" Cody sat down on the edge of the nearest chair. "How you feeling, Squirt?"

_"Like crap."_ Colby's word came out far slower than normal but he was talking and that was all that mattered.

"I bet. Mom's never letting you out of her sight ever again."

That got Cody a weak laugh and a yawn. Before he could say anything else, his mother voice came back on the line.

_"He's gone back to sleep, Cody but he was thrilled to be able to talk to you." _

"Me too. Thanks so much for calling." Cody glanced at his watch and winced. "I gotta go, Mom. I'm going to be REALLY late to work."

_"Cody William Granger, don't you DARE get yourself fired!"_ His mother told him in a tone that brooked no nonsense.

"No, ma'am. Bye." Cody said. He hung up and was out the door moments later. His soul a thousand times lighter than it had been minutes before.

* * *

Through some sort of divine intervention, or mostly clean living, Cody wasn't late to his meeting with Director Atwater. In fact, he walked into the man's outer office with, according to his watch, thirty seconds to spare. He nodded a greeting toward Kendra Williams, the Director's secretary, and she motioned for him to head on into the inner office. Knocking before he opened the door, Cody walked into the room and was a little surprised to see that the Director wasn't alone.

The woman was on the short side, but not much below average, she was smartly dressed in dress suit and her strawberry blond hair was pulled back and swept up into a style Cody often saw Jaqueline wear. She and the Director were, obviously concluding their meeting.

"Director, I'll pass along your newest findings to Secretary Hamilton, I'm sure she'll want to use them to kick her counterpart in Beijing in the face."

"Thank you, Mrs. Miller . . . you planning on dropping in on your husband's office as long as you're here?" The Director didn't get a direct answer, just a sly smile from the woman as she walked out of the office with a huge smile on her face, even as Atwater was directing Cody to come further into his office. "You'll be happy to hear that your brother is expected to make a full recovery, Agent Granger."

Cody felt a little more tension leave his body as he acknowledged the information his Boss of Bosses had just relayed to him. "I appreciate you taking the time to tell me that, Director. I should probably also advise you that I received a call before coming here, from my mother – I was able to speak with Colby, but only for a few seconds."

Atwater nodded. "I suspected your mother would make that call, thank you for telling me." The Director motioned for Cody to join him at the conference table in one corner of his office and sat down as Cody pulled a chair out. "There are a few things I need to get through to you before I decide just how far to read you into the situation your younger brother managed to get himself invited into."

"Was he, sir? Invited or would it be more accurate to say he was probably coerced?" Cody had always known how his mother felt about the intelligence services, the way they required their operatives to operate covertly, and he knew that she was, barely, containing her horror that not one but _two_ of her sons had entered into the FBI. He also knew that Colby knew this as much as he did and that the only way Squirt would've gotten involved…

"_Coerced_ is such a nasty term—" Atwater started to explain, and then changed tactics when Cody just stared at him. "Your brother knew what he was getting into, the stakes involved and that, yes, it was unusual for our agency to use someone with his lack of _civilian_ experience in such a manner. Colby went above and beyond the call of duty to help the United States take down a foreign spy ring working within our government."

"And it damn near got him killed, didn't it?" Cody immediately bit his tongue, wondering what had prompted him to speak like that to his boss. "Sir, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. You're right. More right than I think you can even begin to guess." Atwater picked up a remote from the top of the conference table and, pointing it at a digital media center, turned on a LCD display screen. The media was frozen, not moving, but Cody recognized his brother on the screen, despite the attempted disguise and facial hair. "Before I play this for you, Agent Granger, you need to be informed of a few things." Cody just nodded, never taking his eyes off the still image of his brother. "First off, as of yesterday, you're on Administrative Leave – with pay – until further notice. Secondly, you are not to discuss anything that you see or hear in this office with anyone who doesn't have a security clearance as high, or higher, than yours. I've already informed your Section Supervisory Agent that you would be taking some emergency leave time and I fully expect to hear that you booked a flight to Idaho before the end of the day today. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Granger . . . Cody, look at me." Cody tore his attention from the screen to follow the softly spoken order. "What you are about to see isn't easy to watch, but I feel you must see it so you know what your brother went through and how to help him heal and get past what happened to him."

Taking a closer look at Director Atwater's face, Cody could see more lines in the man's face than had been there the night before. He looked, literally, like he'd aged a good ten to fifteen years in less than 24 hours. "Is it that bad, sir?"

"Worse." He put the remote in Cody's hand and walked out of his office.

Cody toyed with the palm-sized control for a full five minutes, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to see his little brother put through some sort of wringer. He mentally prepared himself, as much as anyone could, to see Colby beaten to a pulp, maybe even tortured with electricity. But he was not prepared for what was actually on the tape.

If he hadn't known, in advance, that Colby had been deep under cover, the first moments of the tape would've damned his brother in Cody's own eyes. His body language was loose, relaxed, confidant and his intonation of his greeting to whomever it was behind the camera . . . damn, Colby was a good actor. It pained him to watch as Colby nonchalantly permitted himself to be divested of his sidearm and cell phone. Then things got extremely difficult to watch.

The damn tape stopped, without warning, shortly after the boarding announcement came through the speaker system in the Director's office. After having seen how his brother had been systematically tortured, Cody understood why the FBI had decided to fly his folks to Los Angeles on a Bureau jet. That Colby was still alive was some sort of miracle, probably directly attributed to the sheer stubborn determination Cody knew his brother had massive reserves of. But it hadn't made watching the video tape any easier to watch and all Cody knew at the moment the tape had stopped, was a utterly frightening level of anger that was bubbling up from somewhere around his heart.

"Agent Granger?" Cody turned around, snarling, but then pulled himself up short when he recognized the man standing in the doorway of Director Atwater's office.

* * *

"Hoode?" Cody asked, more than a little startled to see his self-defense instructor from the Academy standing in there.

"Granger." The smaller man stalked deeper into the office, his eyes taking in everything. "I hear there might be a sparring partner up here, somewhere."

Cody scowled. "Director Atwater sent you up here."

"We talked, last night. We're old friends, but Joe most certainly did not 'send me' up here."

"Then why are you here?"

"I was looking for a sparring partner. If you're not that person, I'll head down to the gym and pray word of my presence hasn't spread and chased everyone off."

Cody looked back at the video screen and the image frozen on it. His brother, his baby brother slumped in the chair he'd been tied to. He swallowed. "Yeah, I could do with some sparring." He stalked from the room.

"Thought you might." Gabriel took another look at the large display screen, clearly the unconscious man slumped there was Agent Colby Granger. "Shit, I may just get my head handed to me." He spotted the remote and turned off the power before leaving the room, muttering, "Damn it, Joe. I'm going to need more than one drink after this beating."

* * *

Worn out, but mentally calmer, from his work out in the gymnasium with Agent Instructor Gabriel Hoode, Cody was able to drive himself home to pack for a trip back to his family home in Idaho. The only concession he gave to what to pack was a fast glance at The Weather Channel before he sprinted up the stairs to stuff clothes in a small suitcase. Once he was done with that, he hauled the case down the living area, found a note pad and left Jacqueline a very brief missive.

_"Jackie – brother was undercover, can't go into details. Going home to Idaho to be with family. Will call as soon as I know something more. Hope your trip was a decent one. _

_Love, Code."_

Placing the note where he was sure Jackie would see it upon entering the house, he grabbed up the suitcase once more and, making sure he double-locked the door behind him, headed out to return to the Hoover Building. One of the Agents from his unit had volunteered to take him to the airport, thus enabling him to leave his private vehicle in the FBI's secure parking garage, only the agent in question didn't know he'd volunteered. Yet.

Once he arrived at headquarters, and successfully volunteering the newest agent in his department for chauffeur duties, Cody quickly penned another note. This one he shoved into a mail slot in the mailroom on near the door into the Archive Department.

_"Bill – you're an asshole. No one likes you. Why don't you put in for that transfer to somewhere really, really cold before I get back from seeing my HERO of a little brother and force you to choke down a hefty serving of crow? _

_Signed, Not From A Family Of Traitors. _

_BTW – FUCK YOU, Fuckingberry."_

Swinging back by his own basement department, Cody picked up his suitcase once more and Agent Owens who was going to drive him to Reagan International, and started the long journey from Washington DC to Cascade, Idaho via Boise. He usually hated red-eye flights, but a phone call to Lars and Auntie Doris while he was packing ensured him a ride from Boise to Cascade. Lars would meet him.

* * *

Cody disembarked from the plane and into the Boise terminal, keeping one eye on the hippy-wanna-be dope smoking hygienically challenged individual that had been seated next to him on not only the Denver to Boise flight, but the DC to Denver flight as well. Cody spotted the dread locked gentleman making his way through the crowd on his way to baggage claim, before he ever spotted his eldest brother, Lars.

"Cody! Over here!" He looked around and spotted his brother waiting patiently outside the waiting lounge for arrivals. Hiking his carry-on higher up on his shoulder, Cody walked over to Lars and, in typical Granger style, soon found himself in a mutual bear hug of an embrace. "How was your flight?"

"Long." Cody groused. "And I was stuck next to something that – if we were still permitted to profile, would've gotten hauled off the plane in Denver and stripped searched. Just for grins and giggles." He made it a point to look in the direction of Mister Dreadlocks as he and Lars walked behind the man toward baggage claims.

"Uh-huh. That ratty looking white guy, right? The one who looks-" Lars wrinkled his nose, "-and smells like he's never used a bar of soap in his life?" Cody just nodded, confirming his brother's identification of the bane of his life for the last hours. "Hell, Cody, if that walked into my office in Billings, I'd be tempted to call the PD and have him hauled out and cavity searched for illicit pharmaceuticals."

Cody let out a snort. "You'd probably find them too. SoB kept making nearly hourly trips to the bathroom and coming back to his seat with a severe case of the sniffles."

"Coke?"

"Probably. Would be my guess, but I've never worked a single day on the streets." Cody slipped to the back of the crowd around the luggage carousel marked as the off-loading area for his flight, leaned up against the low wall that separated the claims area from the main debarkation concourse and finally asked the one question that had been burning in the back of his mind since leaving DC. "Lars, any word on Squirt?"

"A little. Mom said he was able to talk with you for a few minutes?"

"If you want to call it that."

Lars nodded. "Pop swears he's going to be all right. Worn out and worn thin, probably will take a while before he's cleared by medical to get back to work, which is why we're in charge of getting things ready."

He stared at his eldest brother. "Oh sheesh, that means Auntie Dee's really in charge." Cody kicked the low wall with his heel, "Great, there goes any idea of simply resting and relaxing while Squirt recuperated right out the friggin' window."

"Probably." Lars laughed, but immediately sobered up as a too-damn-obvious-to-miss bag came flying down the slide and onto the carousel. "Crap! Is that yours, Cody?"

He twisted his head to see what had caught Lars' attention and let out a groan of his own as he recognized, barely, his luggage. "Yeah. Shit, talk about advertising what bags to steal from." He let the bag make several trips around on the luggage round-a-bout, giving the rest of the passengers from his flight a chance to clear out, before claiming the bag. "Idiot rules."

"Our tax dollars at work, the Government is just there to protect you and I from law-abiding citizens."

Cody let out a derisive snort. "Nice to hear you're still a die-hard conservative." He walked with Lars toward and exit, but then veered off to a seating area before leaving the airport terminal. Cody started ripping the bright neon orange tape marked UNLOADED FIREARM from his suitcase, unlocked the zipper lock, and reached inside to pull out his Sig-Sauer. It only took him 60 seconds to reload the magazine with the loose cartridges he was carrying in his jacket pocket and another 90 seconds to slip it, and his holster, back onto his belt with his FBI badge in plain sight on the front side of the holster. Flipping his jacket back over the gun to conceal it from easy view, he nodded at Lars and the two of them left the warmth of the terminal for the slightly chilly parking area of the Boise Airport.

Lars pointed out a black Cadillac Escalade parked toward the back of the Arrivals Only parking lot and they took off at their usual walking pace, a fast clip, toward Lars' car. They chatted about inconsequential stuff, mostly east coast verses west coast football teams the two followed. Lars hit a remote button on his keyring that unlocked and lifted the back hatch of the Cady as he and Cody approached and Cody lifted his tape-sticky bag and backpack into the cargo area, just as a vehicle came around the far end of the lane behind them with a tire squealing squawk. A second one came around the closer lane end at a slightly less frantic speed and with an ear-splitting long squall of rubber on asphalt, both vehicles came to a halt right behind Cody.

"ON THE GROUND, BOTH OF YOU! RIGHT NOW! LEAVE YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"

Cody's mind flashed back to Quantico and the day his class spent learning how to perform felony stops and how, after a while, everyone had the 'opportunity' to play bad guy as well as good guys. However he wasted no time in following the orders and dropped to the ground and flung his hands out to his side with the palms up. He heard more than saw Lars getting down on the pavement as well on the other side of his Escalade.

Waiting until he heard someone walking up to him, Cody made a very calm announcement. "I'm a Federal Agent, my ID and Credentials are in my left jacket pocket, Officer." His words must have been understood, even if he had been speaking into the asphalt, for he felt very cautious hands first relieve him of his Sig, then dig into the pocket for the leather portfolio.

A clap of a friendly sort tapped him between the shoulder blades as the same voice that had ordered him to the ground earlier, now much softer and a whole lot more friendly, made it clear it was all right to get back up. "Sorry about that, Agent Granger. Let me help you up, sir."

Cody rolled onto his back and accepted the hand held out to him and got to his feet. "It's all right . . . Corporal." The officer had two stripes on his light blue sleeves and the patches of Boise Airport Police. "You were just doing your job, right?"

"Yes'ir. We'd gotten a report from a concerned citizen that there was a fella with a gun last seen heading into this parking lot and, well, you matched the description."

"I understand. I probably should've waited until we were in the car and headed out of here before strapping the ol' ten-shooter back on my hip."

"Yes'ir, you probably should've." The corporal waved the other officer off with a grin, "Excuse me a moment, Agent. Dispatch, everything Code 4, subject in question is Fed."

_"10-4 unit 2, everything Code 4."_

The corporal handed Cody's sidearm and ID back to him. "Sir, are you both FBI?" He nodded to indicate Lars and Cody just shook his head.

"Nope, my brother over there is the City Attorney for Billings over in Montana." He slipped his gun back into its holster and 'confided' in the officer. "Only attorney in a family of cops . . . we may never get over the shame."

"It's all right, sir, even the best families have a black sheep or two in their line ups. Ya'll have a good stay in Idaho." The corporal was snickering as he climbed back into his unit and pulled away to resume patrol.

The two brothers didn't say anything until they were on the road heading north from the airport. "If I'm the shame of the family, what's Cliff?" Lars asked, his curiosity written clearly on his face.

"The squid? In a family of Army Men? He's the abomination." Cody smiled like a loon to ease the sting of his words and soon, the Escalade was ringing with laughter.

* * *

On the way to the house in Cascade, Cody had answered a call on Lars' cell phone and the two of them had been able to talk to their parents about Colby and his projected recovery, something that gave both brothers a great deal of relief. Cody had then curled up for a nap in the all too comfortable passenger seat of the Escalade and didn't wake up again until he felt the road change under the Cadillac's tires from pavement to loose gravel. He was happy for the nap the minute he walked into the old homestead.

"Cody! Good, you're here!" He found himself engulfed in a womanly bear crusher of a hug and enveloped in the scent he would always equate with her.

"Aunt Dee… can't . . . breathe!" Cody was only halfway joking. For a woman of her advanced years, she was quickly approaching 80, Doris Speeck was and had been a constant force in the Cascade area and a stabilizing one in the lives of the Granger Family in particular. She was also their closest neighbor, distance wise, so it made sense that the spry lady had a key to the place.

"Sorry, sorry." She released him in a hurry. "At my age you tend to forget your own strength and, let's face it, that grandson of mine is just as large as a black bear and can handle my hugs." She made it a point to reach out and check his waistline – not for a weapon, that was a usual piece of Granger Wear – and tsk'ed at what she found. "You are getting too damn skinny, Cody William. Don't they feed you right back there in DC?"

"They feed me just fine, Dee." Cody wriggled out of her grasp before she could, and she would, start tickling him. "But my job is mostly behind a desk and I do not want to end up on the 'fatty list' at my next physical review for the Bureau so I'm very careful about what and how much I eat."

"Oh pish!" She waved her hand over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen, causing Cody to follow her but not before he heard Lars getting waylaid on the front porch by Jamie Speeck, Doris' grandson. "You're home and while we've had a good spate of real Idaho summer weather, you're going to need some extra fuel in that furnace of yours. We have a barn and house to get ready, not to mention all the planning and coordinating we're going to need from at least one member of this clan to make sure the youngest is welcomed home with all the pomp and circumstance he so richly deserves." She had been digging into the cupboards, cabinets and refrigerator as she talked and now Doris turned back to face Cody from the stove where she was now mixing up something to eat. "Even through we all know the last thing Colby will want is any sort of fuss and bother over what he did."

Cody nodded. "But if you're pushing for it, there's got to be a reason. Doris, just how bad was the fallout here? Mom and Dad refused to tell me jack about it."

Doris Speeck put aside the frying pan she'd started cooking bacon in and faced him. "It was bad, Cody. Sergeant Huston and I ended up pulling a few officers to keep the damn out of town newsies at bay and Sheriff Leon finally got so fed up with the media circus that he pretty much threatened every single one of them with bodily harm the next time just one of them tried to set foot on Granger Property without a proper invite." She let out a frustrated sigh. "But even that wasn't the worst of it. I and my counterpart in Leon's office fielded so damn many citizen's complaints about harassing phone calls, mostly by so-called journalists, from townsfolk that in the last five to six weeks everyone in or around Cascade and Valley county had gone to unlisted and unpublished phone numbers."

He let out a low whistle. The small town his folks had chosen to live in after Boise had always prided itself on neighbors knowing each other, helping each other and being as private or public as they wanted to be. That so many had suddenly switched from published telephone numbers to unlisted . . . "That bad, huh?"

"Worse. Even a family new to the area has had to fend off the damn vultures and they don't know your family like the rest of the town folk do." Doris turned back to the stove and the bacon, turning the heat back on under the cast iron pan. "Check and see if there's enough eggs in the 'fridge for you, me and your brother. If not, skip over to my place and raid the hen house."

Glancing in the cooler as requested, Cody realized that there were only four eggs left in the carton so he hightailed it out of the kitchen, across the backyard to the creek, then followed that down behind the barn toward Cascade Lake before cutting up a barely discernable trail to the Speeck residence. He used to come over to the old house when he was a teen, gathering up eggs, feeding the chickens and basically helping out around the place after Doris' husband passed away. Spotting the same old wicker basket on the shelf just outside the small hen house, Cody unhitched the gate to the chicken yard and, in a few minutes, was robbing the still pissy-as-ever hens of their ovoid treasures.

* * *

The few two days he was home in Cascade, Cody spent most of his time cleaning the house from top to bottom, then starting over because it didn't 'pass inspection' with Auntie Dee. He was ready to tackle the barn, something about tearing down cobwebs and stringing the Christmas lights – just the white or clear ones – up around the rafters in preparation for the homecoming celebration, when "aunt" Crystal showed up and requested Cody go into town and talk with Sam Neal at the newspaper office.

Snagging the keys to his mother's old Chevy Suburban Cody took the opportunity to get away from the frenzied cleaning and cooking and party planning. It wasn't until he was turning down Maple street that he realized he should have asked Lars to come along, if only to give his eldest brother a break from the Aunties and trying to organize things for Colby's return.

Parking in front of the Cascade Chronicler, Cody was able to slip into the office without too many folks stopping him and offering their well-wishes or congratulations for his youngest brother. Something that was all to frequent an occurrence since the news broke that Colby wasn't a traitor and, in fact, had been instrumental in bringing down a major spy ring inside the United States.

"Sam?"

"In the back!"

He followed the voice to the back of the printing shop where he found Sam Neal half buried inside one of the printing presses. "That's not exactly safe, Sam."

Sam wriggled back out of the machine; wiped greasy hands down the front of a grease and ink stained coverall, then carefully pulled an errant strand of long red hair out of a heart-shaped face. "Well, hell. You picked NOW to show up, Cody Granger." Samantha picked up a clean rag from her tool kit and, after wiping the worst of the greasy ink from her hands, walked over to Cody and held out a hand in greeting. "I would hug you, but you'd never get the ink out of that nice button down."

"We never let us hold us back before, Sam." He reached out and pulled his former best buddy in Cascade into an embrace. Once she responded as she used to – a hard pinch on his side – he released her and held her at arm's length. "Now, Crystal said you wanted to see me about something?"

"Let me show you." She pulled him to the back of the shop where a newer piece of equipment was busy humming away. She sat down at a monitor console and pulled up something and gestured to a nearby chair. "Pull up a chair and sit, I need to tweak the design – with your input – before I print the sign out on the biodegradable vinyl banner."

Curious, he did as Sam requested and was surprised to see a rather elaborate, and patriotic colored, design on the screen welcoming home his baby brother. "Wow … really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, the local Rotary club is footing the bill for the banner but I wanted to do it right before printing anything."

"Still a perfectionist, huh?" Cody teased her. Only to regret it the second her fist connected with the side of his thigh, right over the common peronnial nerve cluster. "Hey!" He nursed the frogged leg.

"Sorry, old habits die hard, Code. Now look at this and tell me if you think it's too much or not enough."

Doing as he was ordered, Cody looked closely at the design – rather tasteful in his opinion but he knew Colby wasn't going to like it, no matter _what_ it looked like – and spent the next forty minutes helping her tweak the design, then rolling up the final product for delivery to the airport. Which Sam gladly volunteered him for.

* * *

After getting back in from the airport hours past the time he'd thought he'd be home, Cody scrounged around in the kitchen, found sandwich makings and, after eating, fairly crawled up to his old room – freshly aired out and cleaned by someone else other than him – and collapsed. It wasn't even nine PM, but that was well past midnight in Washington DC and, frankly, the way the honorary aunts and uncles had been keeping him and Lars running around, he was too pooped to pop.

Sleep came quickly enough, only mildly interrupted by what had to be a vivid dream; though why he'd be dreaming about someone playing a really annoying rendition of Stars and Stripes Forever had bothered him, for all of five seconds.

Loud noises and someone shouting roused him from a deep sleep and Cody's hand wrapped, instinctively and comfortably, around the butt of his service weapon even before his bare feet hit the wood floor and he flung the light quilt and sheets off his body. Glancing over at a digital clock, just as someone raised their voice in a rather forceful tone – something about using soap, Cody realized it was just a few minutes before four in the morning. "God Damn it!" He whipped open the door to his room and stomped out to see the tall, lanky form of Cliffton stumbling toward the bathroom and Lars just clearing the last of the steps coming up from below.

"Damn, Code! Put that away before you shoot a family member." His eldest brother snapped at him.

"It's 4 fucking o'clock in the morning!!! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Cliff's home. And if your nose worked, you'd know that." Lars pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "I'd better check on him in a few minutes. He's so damn tired he's likely to fall asleep standing up and drown in there."

"Fine, just don't wake the dead in the town cemetery while you're at it." Cody knew he was being a bastard, but he was tired, cranky and – despite hearing his little brother would be all right, worried sick that Colby wasn't as "okay" as his folks wanted to believe. He dropped back down on his bed, gently setting his Sig-Sauer on the bedside table and tried to get comfortable enough to fall back to sleep.

However, sleep didn't come immediately and Cody listened as his two brothers moved around the upstairs, quietly talking until he heard Cliff flop into his bed and Lars closed the door to his room a few minutes later. The house once again quiet, Cody was able to get back to sleep for an hour's nap before his usual sleeping pattern reared its ugly head and he found himself wide awake at 5:30 AM local time.

* * *

He understood, really he did, but after three days being in a new time zone, Cody wondered if Cliff was ever going to get over his time lag. Three nights in a row now he'd been startled awake by odd noises in the house, only to discover that Cliffton was wandering around the house in the middle of the night, unable to sleep as his internal clock was still 'set' to his ship's time in the Persian Gulf. Of course, it was somewhat understandable, since there was an eleven-hour time difference between Cascade and Dubai.

Cliff wasn't, due to the severe jet lag, fully able to assist with cleaning and clearing out the old barn for the welcome home party Auntie Doris was planning (with Gigi's and Cat's express approval, of course), but he was able to do stuff in the downstairs while Lars and Cody slept. Up to and including washing the tiny and all too fragile knick-knacks their mother had collected over the years that needed to be cleaned before too many folks came through the house to help welcome Colby home. Which was happening today.

Rousing Cliff enough to have him halfway coherent had taken no less than two full pots of extremely strong coffee, half a package of bacon and four eggs – about all Lars' could cook up with any degree of competency. The ride to and back from the airport, with a highly embarrassed Colby squished between Cody and Cliff, and the raucous greeting, which had welcomed Colby's return to the Granger Homestead, had done far more to waken the dead in the graveyard than it did Cliff. Much to Cody's surprise, Colby – and Cliff, managed to stay awake for a lot longer than he'd thought they would, considering just how worn out and thin Colby looked. Then the fun part came.

Cody, along with Lars, Cat, Gigi, Doris and her grandson Jamie and Sergeant Huston, had to keep an eye on the stairs leading up to the second floor and discourage the younger – some under 18 years old – ladies from trying to slip up to glimpse, or cuddle up to, a sleeping Colby or Cliffton Granger. The family wasn't too worried about Cliff's reactions, even though they knew he had more combat training than he would readily admit to, but Colby had come home with his firearms and Cody knew his brother's Army and FBI training would have him grabbing for the pistols before properly identifying any intruders. The last thing Chief Gareth Granger needed was for his youngest son to shoot a female admirer in his home.

After the last of the honorary Aunts and Uncles, as well as cousins, finished helping to clean up after the party and had departed, Cody and the remaining members of the clan went to bed. Noise, not unlike that made by trapped and worried wolves, startled Cody back awake in the middle of the night. He slipped his hand around his sidearm and noiselessly exited his bedroom at the top of the stairs, his hearing focused on locating the source of the sound. This time, it clearly wasn't Cliff's nocturnal meanderings that had awakened him, but tracking the noise to Colby's room… the hairs on his arms and back of his neck stood straight up as a terrified whimper issued forth behind the closed door.

Carefully and quietly, Cody pushed the door open and spotted his baby brother curled up on the bed in the pale light from a LED lit clock. He started to whisper as he approached the bed, "Colby? Hey, buddy, it's okay. You're safe, Squirt, you're home." Colby didn't respond, at least he didn't wake up, but the whimpering stopped and Cody's brother uncurled from the fetal position he'd been in and rolled over. Spotting an all too familiar box under the pillow once Colby turned over and Cody picked it up and placed it on the bedside table. After all, he knew his little brother all too well, Colby would be heart broken if his precious Aritza Farms green colored cookies were crushed.

He waited until he was sure Colby was resting peacefully again before Cody stepped out of the room, only to find his mother waiting for him. "Mom?"

"He's going to be all right, Cody." She looked into the room for a moment before pulling the door closed. "The nightmares started shortly after he woke up and realized he was in a hospital." Her hand was warm on Cody's arm. "At least his sensory issues have stopped, those were the hardest thing to handle. Even the lightest touch could send him over the edge for the first 24 to 36 hours after he was pulled off that damned freighter."

"Mom, you and dad haven't gotten much sleep yourself in a while, have you?" He didn't have to wait for an answer. "Go on back to bed, Mom. I'll keep an ear open for Squirt and, let's face it, I know how he was trained and the proper counter moves – just in case he wakes up meaner than a riled rattler."

"Thank you, Cody. I'll sleep better knowing you're watching out for him." Catherine Granger stood up on her toes, kissed him on his cheek and padded off to the master bedroom on bare feet, her favorite patchwork quilted robe wrapped around her tight.

He waited until she closed the door to her room, then slid down the wall and planted his butt on the floor next to the door to Colby's room. "No damned Chinese boogeyman is going to get my little brother."

**~*~ END ~*~**

**~*~ Book Three ~*~**

_And this concludes the Tales of the Granger Brothers._


End file.
